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THE 

DISTRICT  SCHOOL 

AS  IT  WAS 

BY     ONE     WHO 

WENT      TO      IT 


EDITED      BY 
CLIFTON  JOHNSON 


LEE     AND     SHEPARD 
BOSTON      MDCCCXCVJI 


Copyright.  1897,  by  LEE  AND  SHEPARD 
All  Rights  Reserved 


THE 

DISTRICT  SCH<X)L 
AS   IT  WAS 


KortDooti  {irras 

J.  8.  Coihing  k.  Co.  -  Berwick  ft  Smith 

Norwood  Maai.  U.S.A. 


Library 


Contents 

Chapter  Page 

Introduction      .....  v 

I.    The  Old  School-house         .  .  .  i 

n.    First  Summer  at  School  —  Mary  Smith  6 

III.  The  Spelling-book     .  .  .  .11 

IV.  First  Winter  at  School         .  .  .15 
V.    Second  Summer  —  Mary  Smith  again    .        20 

VI.    Third   Summer  —  Mehitabel   Holt  and 

Other  Instructresses        ...        24 
VII.    Litde  Books  presented  the  Last  Day  of 

the  School    ...  .  .28 

VIII.    Grammar  —  Young    Lady's    Accidence 

—  Murray  —  Parsing  —  Pope' s  Essay        3  4 
IX.    The  Pardcular  Master  —  Various  Meth- 
ods of  Punishment  ...        42 

X.    How   they  used    to    read    in    the    Old 

School-house  in  District  No,  V         .        47 
XI.    How  they  used  to  spell       .  .  .56 

XII.    Mr,   Spoutsound,   the   Speaking  Master 

—  the  Exhibition  ...        66 

XIII.  Learning  to  write       .  .  .  .78 

XIV.  Seventh  Winter,  but  not  Much  about  it 

—  Eighth  Winter  —  Mr.  Johnson  — 
Good  Order,  and  but  Little  Punish- 
ing —  a  Story  about  Punishing  — 
Nindi  Winter       .  .  .  .87 


468289 


iv  Contents 

chapter  Page 

XV.  Going  out  —  making  Bows  —  Boys 
coming  in  —  Girls  going  out  and 
coming  in   .  .  .  .  .94 

XVI.    Noon  —  Noise  and   Dinner  —  Sports 
at    School  —  Coasting  —  Snow-ball- 
ing —  a  Certain    Memorable    Snow- 
ball Battle   .  .  .  .  .101 
XVII.    Arithmetic  —  Commencement  —  Prog- 
ress—  Late  Improvement  in  the  Art 
of  Teaching           .          .•        .          .110 
XVIII.    Augustus    Starr,    the     Privateer    who 
turned  Pedagogue  —  his   New  Crew 
mutiny,  and  perform  a  Singular  Ex- 
ploit .          .          .          .          .  -115 
XIX.    Eleventh  Winter  —  Mr.  Silverson,  our 
First    Teacher    from    College  —  his 
Blunder  at  Meeting  on  the  Sabbath  — 
his  Character  as  a  Schoolmaster         .      122 
XX.    A  College  Master  again  —  his  Char- 
acter in  School  and  out  —  our  First 
Attempts    at     Composition  —  Brief 
Sketch  of  Another  Teacher      .          .      130 
XXI.    The  Examination  at  the  Closing  of  the 

School         .  .  .  .  .138 

XXII.    The  Old  School-house  again  —  its  Ap- 
pearance the  Last  Winter  —  why  so 
long  occupied  — a  New  One  at  last .      147 
A  Supplication   to  the   People   of  the    United 

States  .  .  .  .  -IS? 

Pages  from  Old  Spellers        .  .  .  .173 


Introduction 

THE  New  England  schools  of  the  early  part 
of  the  century  had  a  primitive  pictur- 
esqueness  that  makes  them  seem  of  a  much 
more  remote  past  than  they  really  are.  The 
wood-pile  in  the  yard,  the  open  fire-place,  the 
backless  benches  on  which  the  smaller  scholars 
sat,  and  the  two  terms  —  one  in  winter  under  a 
master,  and  one  in  summer  ruled  by  a  mistress 
—  have  the  flavor  of  pioneer  days.  In  this 
seeming  remoteness,  coupled  with  its  actual 
nearness,  lies  the  chief  reason  for  the  charm 
that  this  period  has  for  us.  The  intervening 
seventy  or  eighty  years  have  destroyed  every 
vestige  of  the  old  school  sights  and  customs. 
We  have  only  fragmentary  reminiscences  left. 
But  the  more  the  facts  fade,  the  more  they 
allure  us.  We  are  bringing  the  old  furniture 
down  from  the  garrets,  and  setting  it  forth  in 
the  places  of  honor  in  our  best  rooms ;   and  the 


vi  Introduction 

same  feeling  that  prompts  this  love  for  an  an- 
cient chair  or  "chest  of  drawers"  makes  us 
prize  the  reminiscences  of  bygone  times  as  age 
gives  them  an  increasing  rarity. 

Here,  then,  is  "  The  District  School  As  It 
Was."  I  know  of  no  brighter,  more  graphic 
impressions  of  the  school-days  of  the  first  quarter 
of  the  nineteenth  century.  The  descriptions 
have  an  unusual  degree  of  simplicity  and  charm, 
and  at  the  same  time  are  spiced  with  a  sparkle 
of  humor  that  makes  them  good  reading,  apart 
from  any  historic  attraction. 

The  book  was  first  published  in  Boston,  in 
1833,  where  it  was  received  "with  unqualified 
favor."  A  little  later  it  was  brought  out  in 
New  York,  with  equal  success,  and  a  few  years 
afterward  a  London  edition  was  issued  as  giving 
a  faithful  description  of  one  of  the  institutions 
of  New  England. 

In  1852  "The  District  School,"  with  several 
lesser  works  by  the  same  writer,  was  published 
in  a  twelvemo  volume  of  364  pages,  "  to  be  dis- 
posed of  to  subscribers  for  the  benefit  of  the 
Author."  The  longest  of  the  additional  writ- 
ings had  been  previously  published  as  a  separate 
book  entitled  "  The  Scenery  Shower."  But  it 
was  found  that  to  the  mystified  mind  of  the 
average  reader  this  title  was  understood  to  mean 


Introduction  vii 

"  The  Scenery  Rainfall,"  and  a  change  was 
made  in  the  reissue  to  "  Scenery  Showing." 
Aside  from  "  The  District  School "  and  the  in- 
genious "  Supplication  to  the  People  of  the 
United  States,"  which  makes  a  supplementary 
chapter  in  the  present  volume,  the  author's  works 
in  this  twelvemo  are  mild,  contemplative  essays 
of  no  particular  value.  The  idea  of  the  ''Sup- 
plication," just  referred  to,  is  so  odd  and  the  list 
of  mispronounced  words  is  so  characteristic  of 
the  country  folk  of  fifty  or  seventy-five  years 
ago,  that  it  is  well  worth  preserving.  These 
words  can  be  heard  even  now  among  the  old 
people  of  out-of-the-way  villages,  and  they  re- 
peat them  with  the  same  nasal  twang  that  was 
familiar  to  the  ears  of  our  grandparents. 

The  author  of  "  The  District  School,"  Rev. 
Warren  Burton,  was  born  in  Wilton,  N.  H.,  in 
1800,  and  died  at  Salem,  Mass.,  in  1866.  The 
school  he  describes  is  the  one  he  himself  went 
to  as  a  youth  in  his  native  town.  His  attend- 
ance began  at  the  age  of  three-and-one-half  in 
the  summer  of  1804  and  ended  with  the  winter 
term  of  181 7—1 818,  when  he  had  arrived  at  the 
dignity  of  being  one  of  the  big  boys  on  the  back 
seat.  Sixteen  years  later  his  book  was  published, 
describing  the  school  "  as  it  was,"  and  the  reader 
is  given  to  understand  that  the  shortcomings  he 


viii  Introduction 

pictured  were  no  longer  characteristic,  so  far  as 
New  England  was  concerned.  It  gives  an  odd 
impression  to  see  the  school  viewed  across  this 
narrow  space,  as  if  in  contrast  with  the  enlight- 
enment of  1833  and  the  improvements  by  then 
accomplished,  the  teaching  methods  and  school 
environment  of  the  earlier  period  were  a  part 
of  the  dark  ages. 

After  he  left  the  district  school  Mr.  Burton 
prepared  himself  for  Harvard  College,  where  he 
graduated  in  1821.  Then  followed  several 
years  of  teaching.  Next  we  find  him  taking 
the  Harvard  Theological  Course,  and  in  1828 
he  was  ordained  as  a  Unitarian  minister  at  East 
Cambridge.  As  a  preacher  he  served  in  Wash- 
ington, Keene  and  Nashua  in  New  Hampshire, 
and  in  Hingham,  Waltham,  Worcester,  and 
Boston  in  Massachusetts.  But  as  time  went 
on  he  preached  less  and  devoted  himself  more 
and  more  to  objects  of  reform.  He  was  a  fre- 
quent contributor  to  periodicals,  and  in  both 
writing  and  lecturing  he  labored  to  promote 
home  culture  and  to  improve  the  conditions  of 
the  schools.  Friends  speak  of  him  as  being 
rather  tall,  with  a  most  benevolent  countenance 
and  gentle  manners.  His  published  works  in- 
clude several  volumes  on  religion  and  education, 
and,  in  lighter  vein,  these  recollections  of  his 


Introduction  ix 

school-days  and  a  little  book  printed  anony- 
mously entitled  "  The  Village  Choir  "  —  a 
humorous  description  of  the  ways  and  manners, 
quarrels  and  jealousies  of  an  old-time  choir  in  a 
country  church. 

The  text  in  the  present  edition  of  "  The 
District  School"  is  practically  what  it  was  in 
the  original.  Nothing  is  changed,  and  the  edit- 
ing consists  in  a  slight  condensation,  effected 
by  cutting  out  unnecessary  asides  and  digres- 
sions. 

With  the  exception  of  a  few  special  drawings, 
the  illustrations  are  cuts  from  old  spellers  and 
other  books  of  the  period.  I  hav^e  a  number  of 
these  books  before  me  as  I  write.  The  arith- 
metics, grammars,  and  readers  are  sober  volumes 
bound  in  full  sheep.  The  stiff  bindings  are 
warped  and  battered  now,  the  pages  yellow  and 
spotty,  and  they  have  a  musty  odor  of  age  and 
of  long  years  spent  in  dusty  garret  corners. 

The  old  spellers  are  not  much  gayer.  They 
have  thin  sides  of  light,  splintery  wood  pasted 
over  with  dull  gray  paper.  But  inside  there  is 
a  good  deal  of  variety, —  words  from  one  syllable 
up  to  ponderous  sixes,  wise  maxims,  religious 
instruction,  and  many  little  stories  with  never- 
failing  morals  under  their  sugar  coats.  Lastly, 
there  is  a  sprinkling  of  curious  pictures.      Both 


Introduction 


pictures  and  text  have  an  unconscious  humor 
that  would  put  a  professional  wit  to  shame. 
No  one  by  forethought  could  make  more  quaint 
distortions  of  fact  and  human  nature.  It  gives 
the  same  feeling  as  if  one  were  looking  out  on 
the  world  through  the  flaws  of  an  old-time 
window-pane. 

In   the   body   of  the   book  are   various    fac- 
^^     simile  reproductions  from  the  old  spellers ;  but 
in  closing  my  introduction  I  would  like  to  re- 
print a  few  more  bits  here.     For  instance,  take 
this,  which  is  from  a  speller  lesson  for  beginners. 

Pigs  can  dig  in  the  side  of  a  hill. 

A  pig  drinks  swill. 

Let  him  drink  his  fill  of  swill  and  milk. 

The  lesson  following  the  above  is  this :  — 

Ships  sail  on  the  sea. 

A  ship  will  hold  ten  nags,  ten  hens,  for-ty 
cats  and  pigs,  six  beds,  six-ty  men,  and  much 
more. 

A  dozen  pages  farther  on  we  come  to  some- 
thing more  serious  —  the  "  Story  of  a  Bad  Boy." 

Jack  lov-ed  to  play  more  than  he  lov-ed  to 
go  to  school.  So  he  stop-ped  by  the  way  to 
slide  on  a  pond.  He  had  not  slid  long  when 
he  slipt  into  a  hole  cut   in  the  ice.     There  he 


Introduction  xi 

was  left  to  hang  by  his  hands  on  the  cold 
ice,  and  his  feet  and  legs  in  the  cold  water.  O 
how  sor-ry  that  he  ran  a-way  from  school ! 
How  glad  and  vet  how  sha-med,  when  his  pa 
came  and  took  him  home  in  his  arms  ! 

Then  here  is  a  lesson  designed  to  teach  the 
child  in  an  agreeable  way  something  of  natural 
history. 

Of  Sheep,  Horses,  and  Birds. 

What  has  Charles  got  to  keep  him  warm  ? 

Charles  has  got  a  frock  and  warm  petticoats. 

And  what  have  the  poor  sheep  got ;  have 
they  petticoats  ? 

The  sheep  have  got  wool,  thick,  warm  wool. 
Feel  it.  Oh,  it  is  very  comfortable  !  That  is 
their  clothing. 

And  what  have  horses  got  ? 

Horses  have  got  long  hair;  and  cows  have 
hair. 

And  what  have  pigs  got  ? 

Pigs  have  got  bristles  and  hair. 

And  what  have  birds  got  ? 

Birds  have  got  feathers ;  soft,  clean,  shining 
feathers. 

Birds  build  nests  in  trees;  that  is  their  house. 

Can  you  climb  a  tree  ? 


xli  Introduction 

No.  I  am  afraid  I  should  fall  and  break  my 
bones. 

Ask  puss  to  teach  you  ;  she  can  climb.     See 

how  fast  she  climbs !     She  is  at  the  top.     She 

wants  to  catch  birds.     Pray,  puss,  do  not  take 

the  little  birds  that  sing  so  merrily  !     She  has 

got  a  sparrow  in  her  mouth.     She  has  eaten  it 

all  up.     No,  here  are  two  or  three  feathers  on 

the  ground,  all  bloody.     Poor  sparrow  ! 

• 
Finally,  here  are   a   few  sentences  from  the 

latter  part  of  the  spellers,  apparently  put  in  to  fill 

a  blank  space  at  the  bottom  of  a  page. 

A  wise  child  will  not  learn  to  chew  tobacco, 
smoke  the  pipe,  or  cigars,  or  take  snufF,  for  the 
four  following  reasons  :  — 

They  are  dirty  habits ;  useless  habits ;  costly 
habits;  slavish  habits.  It  is  pitiful  to  see  a 
strong,  healthy  looking  man  a  slave  to  a  quid 
of  tobacco,  or  a  puff  of  smoke;  or  a  beautiful, 
sensible  lady  stuffed  up  or  bedaubed  with  snuff. 

Clifton  Johnson. 
hadley,  mass. 


The  District  School  As  It  Was 


Chapter  I 
The  Old  School-house 

THE  Old  School-house,  how  distinctly  it 
rises  to  existence  anew  before  the  eye 
of  my  mind  !  It  is  now  no  more ;  and  those 
of  similar  construction  are  passing  away,  never 
to  be  patterned  again.  It  may  be  well,  there- 
fore, to  describe  the  edifice  wherein  and  where- 
about occurred  many  of  the  scenes  about  to  be 
recorded.  I  would  have  future  generations 
acquainted  with  the  accommodations,  or  rather 
dis-accommodations,  of  their  predecessors. 

The  Old  School-house,  in  District  No.  5, 
stood  on  the  top  of  a  very  high  hill,  on  the 
north  side  of  what  was  called  the  County  road. 
The  house  of  Capt.  Clark,  about  ten  rods  off, 
was  the  only  human  dwelling  within  a  quarter 
of  a  mile.  The  reason  why  this  seminary  of 
letters  was  perched  so  high  in  the  air,  and  so  far 


The  District  School 


from  the  homes  of  those  who  resorted  to  it,  was 
this :  —  Here  was  the  center  of  the  district,  as 
near  as  surveyor's  chain  could  designate.  The 
people  east  would  not  permit  the  building  to  be 
carried  one  rod  further  west,  and  those  of  the 
opposite  quarter  were  as  obstinate  on  their  side. 

The  edifice  was  set  half  in  Capt.  Clark's  field, 
and  half  in  the  road.  The  wood-pile  lay  in  the 
corner  made  by  the  east  end  and  the  stone  wall. 
The  best  roof  it  ever  had  ovcr*St  was  the  change- 
ful sky,  which  was  a  little  too  leaky  to  keep  the 
fuel  at  all  times  fit  for  combustion,  without  a 
great  deal  of  puffing  and  smoke.  The  door- 
step was  a  broad  unhewn  rock,  brought  from 
the  neighboring  pasture.  It  had  not  a  flat  and 
even  surface,  but  was  considerably  sloping  from 
the  door  to  the  road ;  so  that,  in  icy  times,  the 
scholars,  in  passing  out,  used  to  snatch  from  the 
scant  declivity  the  transitory  pleasure  of  a  slide. 
But  look  out  for  a  slip-up,  ye  careless  ;  for  many 
a  time  have  I  seen  an  urchin's  head  where  his 
feet  were  but  a  second  before.  And  once,  the 
most  lofty  and  perpendicular  pedagogue  I  ever 
knew,  became  suddenly  horizontalized  in  his 
egress. 

But  we  have  lingered  round  this  door-step 
long  enough.  Before  we  cross  it,  however,  let 
us  just  glance  at  the  outer  side  of  the  structure. 


As  It  Was  3 

It  was  never  painted  by  man ;  but  the  clouds  of 
many  years  had  stained  it  with  their  own  dark 
hue.  The  nails  were  starting  from  their  fast- 
ness, and  fellow-clapboards  were  becoming  less 
closely  and  warmly  intimate.  There  were  six 
windows,  which  here  and  there  stopped  and  dis- 
torted the  passage  of  light  by  fractures,  patches, 
and  seams  of  putty.  There  were  shutters  of 
board,  like  those  of  a  store,  which  were  of  no 
kind  of  use,  excepting  to  keep  the  windows 
from  harm  in  vacations,  when  they  were  the 
least  liable  to  harm.  They  might  have  been  con- 
venient screens  against  the  summer  sun,  were  it 
not  that  their  shade  was  inconvenient  darkness. 
Some  of  these,  from  loss  of  buttons,  were  fas- 
tened back  by  poles,  which  were  occasionally 
thrown  down  in  the  heedlessness  of  play,  and 
not  replaced  till  repeated  slams  had  broken  a 
pane  of  glass,  or  the  patience  of  the  teacher. 
To  crown  this  description  of  externals,  I  must 
say  a  word  about  the  roof.  The  shingles  had 
been  battered  apart  by  a  thousand  rains;  and, 
excepting  where  the  most  defective  had  been 
exchanged  for  new  ones,  they  were  dingy  with 
the  mold  and  moss  of  time.  The  bricks  of 
the  chimney-top  were  losing  their  cement,  and 
looked  as  if  some  high  wind  might  hurl  them 
from  their  smoky  vocation. 


The  District  School 


We  will  now  go  inside.  First,  there  is  an 
entry  which  the  district  were  sometimes  provi- 
dent enough  to  store  with  dry  pine  wood,  as  an 
antagonist  to  the  greenness  and  wetness  of  the 
other  fuel.  A  door  on  the  left  admits  us  to  the 
school-room.  Here  is  a  space  about  twenty 
feet  long  and  ten  wide,  the  reading  and  spelling 
parade.  At  the  south  end  of  it,  at  the  left  as 
you  enter,  was  one  seat  and  writing  bench, 
making  a  right  angle  with  the  rest  of  the  seats. 
This  was  occupied  in  the  winter  by  two  of  the 
oldest  males  in  the  school.  At  the  opposite 
end  was  the  magisterial  desk,  raised  upon  a 
platform  a  foot  from  the  floor.  The  fire-place 
was  on  the  right,  half  way  between  the  door  of 
entrance  and  another  door  leading  into  a  dark 
closet,  where  the  girls  put  their  outside  gar- 
ments and  their  dinner  baskets.  This  also 
served  as  a  fearful  dungeon  for  the  immuring 
of  offenders.  Directly  opposite  the  fire-place 
was  an  aisle,  two  feet  and  a  half  wide,  running 
up  an  inclined  floor  to  the  opposite  side  of  the 
room.  On  each  side  of  this  were  five  or  six 
long  seats  and  writing  benches,  for  the  accom- 
modation of  the  school  at  their  studies.  In 
front  of  these,  next  to  the  spelling  floor,  were 
low,  narrow  seats  for  abecedarians  and  others 
near    that    rank.       In    general,    the    older    the 


As  It  Was  5 

scholar,  the  further  from  the  front  was  his 
location.  The  windows  behind  the  back  seat 
were  so  low  that  the  traveler  could  generally 
catch  the  stealthy  glance  of  curiosity  as  he 
passed.  Such  was  the  Old  School-house  at  the 
time  I  first  entered  it.  Its  subsequent  condi- 
tion and  many  other  inconveniences  will  be 
noticed  hereafter. 


The  District  School 


Chapter    II 
First  Summer  at  School  —  Mary  Smith 

I  WAS  three  years  and  a  half  old  when  I  first 
entered  the  Old  School-house  as  an  abece- 
darian. I  ought,  perhaps,  to  have  set  foot  on 
the  first  step  of  learning's  ladder  before  this; 
but  I  had  no  elder  brother  or  sister  to  lead  me 
to  school,  a  mile  off^;  and  it  never  occurred  to 
my  good  parents,  that  they  could  teach  me  even 
the  alphabet ;  or,  perhaps,  they  could  not  affbrd 
the  time,  or  muster  the  patience  for  the  tedious 
process.  I  had,  however,  learned  the  name  of 
capital  A,  because  it  stood  at  the  head  of  the 
column,  and  was  the  similitude  of  a  harrow 
frame;  of  O,  also,  from  its  resemblance  to  a 
hoop.  Its  sonorous  name,  moreover,  was  a 
frequent  passenger  through  my  mouth,  after  I 
had  begun  to  articulate;  its  ample  sound  being 
the  most  natural  medium  by  which  man,  born 
unto  trouble,  signifies  the  pains  of  his  lot.  X, 
too,  was  familiar,  as  it  seemed  so  like  the  end 
of  the  old  saw-horse  that  stood  in  the  wood- 
shed.    Further  than   this  my  alphabetical   lore 


As  It  Was  7 

did  not  extend,  according  to  present  recollec- 
tion. 

I  shall  never  forget  my  first  day  of  scholar- 
ship, as  it  was  the  most  important  era  which 
had  yet  occurred  to  my  experience.  Behold 
me  on  the  eventful  morning  of  the  first  Mon- 
day in  June,  arrayed  in  my  new  jacket  and 
trowsers,  into  which  my  importance  had  been 
shoved  for  the  first  time  in  my  life.  This 
change  in  my  costume  had  been  deferred  till 
this  day,  that  I  might  be  ^'  all  nice  and  clean 
to  go  to  school."  Then  my  Sunday  hat  of 
coarse  and  hard  sheep's  wool  adorned  my  head 
for  the  first  time  in  common  week-day  use ; 
for  my  other  had  been  crushed,  torn,  and  soiled 
out  of  the  seemliness,  and  almost  out  of  the 
form,  of  a  hat.  My  little  new  basket,  too, 
bought  expressly  for  the  purpose,  was  laden 
with  'lection-cake  and  cheese  for  my  dinner, 
and  slung  upon  my  arm.  An  old  Perry's 
spelling-book,  that  our  boy  Ben  used  at  the 
winter  school,  completed  my  equipment. 

Mary  Smith  was  my  first  teacher,  and  the 
dearest  to  my  heart  I  ever  had.  She  was  a 
niece  of  Mrs.  Carter,  who  lived  in  the  nearest 
house  on  the  way  to  school.  She  had  visited 
her  aunt  the  winter  before ;  and  her  uncle, 
being  chosen  committee  for  the  school  at  the 


8  The  District  School 

town-meeting  in  the  spring,  sent  immediately  to 
her  home  in  Connecticut,  and  engaged  her  to 
teach  the  summer  school.  During  the  few  days 
she  spent  at  his  house,  she  had  shown  herself 
peculiarly  qualified  to  interest,  and  to  gain  the 
love  of  children.  Some  of  the  neighbors,  too, 
who  had  dropped  in  while  she  was  there,  were 
much  pleased  with  her  appearance.  She  had 
taught  one  season  in  her  native  State ;  and  that 
she  succeeded  well,  Mr.  Carter^ould  not  doubt. 
He  preferred  her,  therefore,  to  hundreds  near 
by ;  and  for  once  the  partiality  of  the  relative 
proved  profitable  to  the  district. 

Now  Mary  Smith  was  to  board  at  her  uncle's. 
This  was  deemed  a  fortunate  circumstance  on 
my  account,  as  she  would  take  care  of  me  on 
the  way,  which  was  needful  to  my  inexperi- 
enced childhood. 

She  used  to  lead  me  to  school  by  the  hand, 
while  John  and  Sarah  Carter  gamboled  on, 
unless  I  chose  to  gambol  with  them ;  but  the 
first  day,  at  least,  I  kept  by  her  side.  All  her 
demeanor  toward  me,  and  indeed  toward  us  all, 
was  of  a  piece  with  her  first  introduction.  She 
called  me  to  her  to  read,  not  with  a  look  and 
voice  as  if  she  were  doing  a  duty  she  disliked, 
and  was  determined  I  should  do  mine  too,  like 
it  or  not,  as  is  often  the  manner  of  teachers; 


As  It  Was  9 

but  with  a  cheerful  smile,  as  if  she  were  at  a 
pastime. 

My  first  business  was  to  master  the  ABC, 
and  no  small  achievement  it  was ;  for  many  a 
little  learner  waddles  to  school  through  the  sum- 
mer, and  wallows  to  the  same  through  the  win- 
ter, before  he  accomplishes  it,  if  he  happens  to 
be  taught  in  the  manner  of  former  times.  This 
might  have  been  my  lot,  had  it  not  been  for 
Mary  Smith.  Few  of  the  better  methods  of 
teaching,  which  now  make  the  road  to  know- 
ledge so  much  more  easy  and  pleasant,  had  then 
found  their  way  out  of,  or  into,  the  brain  of  the 
pedagogical  vocation.  Mary  went  on  in  the  old 
way  indeed ;  but  the  whole  exercise  was  done 
with  such  sweetness  on  her  part,  that  the  dila- 
tory and  usually  unpleasant  task  was  to  me  a 
pleasure,  and  by  the  close  of  that  summer,  the 
alphabet  was  securely  my  own. 

That  hardest  of  all  tasks,  sitting  becomingly 
still,  was  rendered  easier  by  her  goodness. 
When  I  grew  restless,  and  turned  from  side  to 
side,  and  changed  from  posture  to  posture,  in 
search  of  relief  from  my  uncomfortableness,  she 
spoke  words  of  sympathy  rather  than  reproof. 
Thus  I  was  won  to  be  as  quiet  as  I  could. 
When  I  grew  drowsy,  and  needed  but  a  com- 
fortable position  to  drop  into  sleep  and  forget- 


lO  The  District  School 

fuhiess  of  the  weary  hours,  she  would  gently 
lay  me  at  length  on  my  seat,  and  leave  me  just 
falling  to  slumber,  with  her  sweet  smile  the  last 
thing  beheld  or  remembered. 

Thus  wore  away  my  first  summer  at  the 
district  school.  As  I  look  back  on  it,  faintly 
traced  on  memory,  it  seems  like  a  beautiful 
dream,  the  images  of  which  are  all  softness 
and  peace.  I  recollect  that,  when  the  last  day 
came,  it  was  not  one  of  light-4iearted  joy  —  it 
was  one  of  sadness,  and  it  closed  in  tears.  I 
was  now  obliged  to  stay  at  home  in  solitude, 
for  the  want  of  playmates,  and  in  weariness  of 
the  passing  time,  for  the  want  of  something 
to  do ;  as  there  was  no  particular  pleasure  in 
saying  A  B  C  all  alone,  with  no  Mary  Smith's 
voice  and  looks  for  an  accompaniment. 


As  It  Was  II 


Chapter    III 

The  Spelling-book 

AS  the  spelling-book  was  the  first  manual  of 
instruction  used  in  school,  and  kept  in  our 
hands  for  many  years,  I  think  it  worthy  of  a 
separate  chapter  in  these  annals  of  the  times 
that  are  past.  The  spelling-book  used  in  our 
school  from  time  immemorial  —  immemorial  at 
least  to  the  generation  of  learners  to  which  I 
belonged  —  was  thus  entitled:  "The  Only 
Sure  Guide  to  the  English  Tongue,  by  Wil- 
liam Perry,  Lecturer  of  the  English  Language 
in  the  Academy  of  Edinburgh,  and  author  of 
several  valuable  school-books." 

In  the  first  place,  there  was  a  frontispiece. 
This  frontispiece  consisted  of  two  parts.  In 
the  upper  division,  there  was  the  representation 
of  a  tree  laden  with  fruit  of  the  largest  descrip- 
tion. It  was  intended,  I  presume,  as  a  striking 
and  alluring  emblem  of  the  general  subject,  the 
particular  branches,  and  the  rich  fruits  of  edu- 
cation. But  the  figurative  meaning  was  above 
my  apprehension,  and  no  one  took  the  trouble 


12  The  District  School 

to  explain  it.  I  supposed  it  nothing  but  the 
picture  of  a  luxuriant  apple-tree ;  and  it  always 
made  me  think  of  that  good  tree  in  my  father's 
orchard,  so  dear  to  my  palate,  —  the  pumpkin- 
sweeting. 

There  ran  a  ladder  from  the  ground  up 
among  the  branches,  which  was  designed  to 
represent  the  ladder  of  learning.  Little  boys 
were  ascending  this  in  pursuit  of  the  fruit  that 
hung  there  so  temptingly.  Others  were  already 
up  in  the  tree,  plucking  the  apples  directly  from 
their  stems ;  while  others  were  on  the  ground, 
picking  up  those  that  had  dropped  in  their  ripe- 
ness. At  the  very  top  of  the  tree,  with  his 
head  reared  above  all  fruit  or  foliage,  was  a 
bare-headed  lad  with  a  book  in  his  hand,  which 
he  seemed  intently  studying.  I  supposed  that 
he  was  a  boy  that  loved  his  book  better  than 
apples,  as  all  good  boys  should,  —  one  who  in 
very  childhood  had  trodden  temptation  under 
foot.  But,  indeed,  it  was  only  a  boy  who  was 
gathering  fruit  from  the  topmost  boughs,  accord- 
ing to  the  figurative  meaning,  as  the  others 
were  from  those  lower  down.  Or  rather,  as 
he  was  portrayed,  he  seemed  like  one  who  had 
culled  the  fairest  and  highest  growing  apples, 
and  was  trying  to  learn  from  a  book  where 
he   should    find   a  fresh   and   loftier  tree,  upon 


As  It  Was  13 

which  he   might   climb  to  a  richer  repast  and 
a  nobler  distinction. 

This  picture  used  to  retain  my  eye  longer 
than  any  other  in  the  book.  It  was  probably 
more  agreeable  on  account  of  the  other  part  of 
the  frontispiece  below  it.  This  was  the  repre- 
sentation of  a  school  at  their  studies,  with  the 
master  at  his  desk.  He  was  pictured  as  an 
elderly  man,  with  an  immense  wig  enveloping 
his  head  and  bagging  about  his  neck,  and  with 
a  face  that  had  an  expression  of  perplexity  at 
a  sentence  in  parsing,  or  a  sum  in  arithmetic, 
and  a  frown  at  the  playful  urchins  in  the  dis- 
tant seats.  There  could  not  have  been  a  more 
capital  device  by  which  the  pleasures  of  a  free 
range  and  delicious  eating,  both  so  dear  to  the 
young,  might  be  contrasted  with  stupefying  con- 
finement and  longing  palates  in  the  presence  of 
crabbed  authority.  The  subsequent  contents  I 
was  going  on  to  describe  in  detail;  but  on  sec- 
ond thought  I  forbear,  for  fear  that  the  descrip- 
tion might  be  as  tedious  to  my  readers  as  the 
study  of  them  was  to  me.  Suffice  it  to  say, 
there  was  talk  about  vowels  and  consonants, 
diphthongs  and  triphthongs,  monosyllables  and 
polysyllables,  orthography  and  punctuation,  and 
even  about  geography,  all  which  was  about  as 
intelligible  to  us,  who  were  obliged  to  commit 


14  The  District  School 

it  to  memory  year  after  year,  as  the  fee-faw- 
fum  uttered  by  the  giant  in  one  of  our  story- 
books. 

Perry's  spelHng-book,  as  it  was  in  those  days, 
at  least,  is  now  out  of  use.  It  is  nowhere  to 
be  found  except  in  fragments  in  some  dark 
corner  of  a  country  cupboard  or  garret.  All 
vestiges  of  it  will  soon  disappear  forever. 
What  will  the  rising  generations  do,  into  what 
wilds  of  barbarism  will  they  Zander,  into  what 
pits  of  ignorance  fall,  without  the  aid  of  the 
Only  Sure  Guide  to  the  English  tongue  ? 


As  It  Was  15 


Chapter   IV 
First  Winter  at  School 

T  TOW  I  longed  for  the  winter  school  to 
•*"  ■*■  begin,  to  which  I  looked  forward  as  a 
relief  from  my  do-nothing  days,  and  as  a  re- 
newal, in  part  at  least,  of  the  soft  and  glowing 
pleasures  of  the  past  summer !  But  the  school- 
master, the  thought  of  him  was  a  fearful  look- 
ing-for of  frowns  and  ferulings.  Had  I  not 
heard  our  Ben  tell  of  the  direful  punishments 
of  the  winter  school ;  of  the  tingling  hand, 
black  and  blue  with  twenty  strokes,  and  not 
to  be  closed  for  a  fortnight  from  soreness  ?  Did 
not  the  minister  and  the  schoolmaster  of  the  pre- 
ceding winter  visit  together  at  our  house,  one 
evening,  and  did  I  not  think  the  schoolmaster 
far  the  more  awful  man  of  the  two  ?  The  min- 
ister took  me  in  his  lap,  gave  me  a  kiss,  and 
told  me  about  his  own  little  Charley  at  home, 
whom  I  must  come  to  see  -,  and  he  set  me 
down  with  the  impression  that  he  was  not  half 
so  terrible  as  I  had  thought  him.  But  the 
schoolmaster  condescended   to   no  words    with 


1 6  The  District  School 

me.  He  was  as  stiff  and  unstooping  as  the 
long  kitchen  fire-shovel,  and  as  solemn  of  face 
as  a  cloudy  fast-day. 

The  winter  at  length  came,  and  the  first  day 
of  the  school  was  fixed  and  made  known,  and 
the  longed-for  morning  finally  arrived.  With 
hoping,  yet  fearing  heart,  I  was  led  by  Ben  to 
school.  But  my  fears  respecting  the  teacher 
were  not  realized  that  winter.  He  had  noth- 
ing particularly  remarkable  •about  him  to  my 
little  mind.  He  had  his  hands  too  full  of  the 
great  things  of  the  great  scholars  to  take  much 
notice  of  me,  excepting  to  hear  me  read  my 
Abs  four  times  a  day.  This  exercise  he  went 
through  like  a  great  machine,  and  I  like  a  little 
one ;  so  monotonous  was  the  humdrum  and 
regular  the  recurrence  of  ah^  eh,  ib,  ob,  ub,  &c., 
from  day  to  day,  and  week  to  week.  To  recur 
to  the  metaphor  of  a  ladder  by  which  progress 
in  learning  is  so  often  illustrated,  I  was  all 
summer  on  the  lowest  round,  as  it  were,  lifting 
first  one  foot  and  then  the  other,  still  putting  it 
down  in  the  same  place,  without  going  any 
higher ;  and  all  winter,  while  at  school,  I  was 
as  wearily  tap-tapping  it  on  the  second  step. 

There  was  one  circumstance,  however,  in 
the  daily  routine,  which  was  a  matter  of  some 
little  excitement  and  pleasure.      I  was  put   into 


As  It  Was  17 

a  class.  Truly  my  littleness,  feelingly,  if  not 
actually  and  visibly,  enlarged  itself,  when  I  was 
called  out  with  Sam  Allen,  Henry  Green,  and 
Susan  Clark,  to  take  our  stand  on  the  floor  as 
the  sixth  class.  I  marched  up  with  the  tread 
of  a  soldier;  and,  thinks  I,  "  Who  has  a  better 
right  to  be  at  the  head  than  myself  ?  "  so  the 
head  I  took,  as  stiff  and  as  straight  as  a  cob. 
My  voice,  too,  if  it  lost  none  of  its  treble,  was 
pitched  a  key  louder,  as  a — h  ab  rang  through 
the  realm.  And  when  we  had  finished,  I 
looked  up  among  the  large  scholars,  as  I  strutted 
to  my  seat,  with  the  thought,  "  I  am  almost  as 
big  as  you  now,"  puffing  out  my  tiny  soul. 
Now,  moreover,  I  held  the  book  in  my  own 
hand,  and  kept  the  place  with  my  own  finger, 
instead  of  standing  like  a  very  little  boy,  with 
my  hands  at  my  side,  following  with  my  eye 
the  point  of  the  mistress's  scissors. 

There  was  one  terror  at  this  winter  school 
which  I  must  not  omit  in  this  chronicle  of  my 
childhood.  It  arose  from  the  circumstance  of 
meeting  so  many  faces  which  I  had  never  seen 
before,  or  at  least  had  never  seen  crowded 
together  in  one  body.  All  the  great  boys  and 
girls,  who  had  been  kept  at  home  during  the 
summer,  now  left  axes  and  shovels,  needles  and 
spinning  wheels,  and  poured  into  the  winter 
c 


The  District  School 


school.  There  they  sat,  side  by  side,  head  after 
head,  row  above  row.  For  this  I  did  not  care  ; 
but  every  time  the  master  spoke  to  me  for  any 
little  misdemeanor,  it  seemed  as  if  all  turned 
their  eyes  on  my  timid  self,  and  I  felt  petrified 
by  the  gaze.  But  this  simultaneous  and  con- 
centrated eye-shot  was  the  most  distressing 
when  I  happened  late,  and  was  obliged  to  go  in 
after  the  school  were  all  seated  in  front  of  my 
advance.  • 

The  severest  duty  I  was  ever  called  to  per- 
form was  sitting  on  that  little  front  seat,  at  my 
first  winter  school.  My  lesson  in  the  Abs  con- 
veyed no  ideas,  excited  no  interest,  and,  of 
course,  occupied  but  very  little  of  my  time. 
There  was  nothing  before  me  on  which  to  lean 
my  head,  or  lay  my  arms,  but  my  own  knees. 
I  could  not  lie  down  to  drowse,  as  in  summer, 
for  want  of  room  on  the  crowded  seat.  How 
my  limbs  ached  for  the  freedom  and  activity  of 
play  !  It  sometimes  seemed  as  if  a  drubbing 
from  the  master,  or  a  kick  across  the  school- 
house,  would  have  been  a  pleasant  relief. 

But  these  bonds  upon  my  limbs  were  not  all. 
I  had  trials  by  fire  in  addition.  Every  cold 
forenoon,  the  old  fire-place,  wide  and  deep,  was 
kept  a  roaring  furnace  of  flame,  for  the  benefit 
of  blue  noses,  chattering  jaws,  and  aching  toes. 


As  It  Was  19 

in  the  more  distant  regions.  The  end  of  my 
seat,  just  opposite  the  chimney,  was  oozy  with 
melted  pitch,  and  sometimes  almost  smoked 
with  combustion.  Judge,  then,  of  what  living 
flesh  had  to  bear.  It  was  a  toil  to  exist.  I 
truly  ate  the  bread  of  instruction,  or  rather 
nibbled  at  the  crust  of  it,  in  the  sweat  of  my 
face. 

But  the  pleasures  and  the  pains  of  this  sea- 
son at  school  did  not  continue  long.  After  a 
few  weeks,  the  storms  and  drifts  of  midwinter 
kept  me  mostly  at  home.  Henry  Allen  was  in 
the  same  predicament.  As  for  Susan  Clark, 
she  did  not  go  at  all  after  the  first  three  or  four 
days.  In  consequence  of  the  sudden  change 
from  roasting  within  doors  to  freezing  without, 
she  took  a  violent  cold,  and  was  sick  all  winter. 


20  The  District  School 


Chapter    V 
Second  Summer — Mary  Smith  Again 

THE  next  summer,  Mary  Smith  was  the  mis- 
tress again.  She  gave  such  admirable  satis- 
faction, that  there  was  but  on#  unanimous  wish 
that  she  should  be  re-engaged.  Unanimous,  I 
said,  but  it  was  not  quite  so ;  for  Capt.  Clark, 
who  lived  close  by  the  school-house,  preferred 
somebody  else,  no  matter  whom,  fit  or  not  fit, 
who  should  board  with  him,  as  the  teachers 
usually  did.  But  Mary  would  board  with  her 
Aunt  Carter,  as  before.  Then  Mr.  Patch's 
family  grumbled  not  a  little,  and  tried  to  find 
fault ;  for  they  wanted  their  Polly  should  keep 
the  school  and  board  at  home,  and  help  her 
mother  night  and  morning,  and  save  the  pay 
for  the  board  to  boot.  Otherwise  Polly  must 
go  into  a  distant  district,  to  less  advantage  to 
the  family  purse.  Mrs.  Patch  was  heard  to 
guess  that  "  Polly  could  keep  as  good  a  school 
as  anybody  else.  Her  education  had  cost 
enough  anyhow.  She  had  been  to  our  school 
summer  after  summer,  and  winter  after  winter. 


As  It  Was  21 

ever  since  she  was  a  little  gal,  and  had  then 
been  to  the  'cademy  three  months  besides.  She 
had  moreover  taught  three  summers  already, 
and  was  twenty-one;  whereas  Mary  Smith  had 
taught  but  two,  and  was  only  nineteen."  But 
the  committee  had  not  such  confidence  in  the 
experienced  Polly's  qualifications.  All  who  had 
been  to  school  with  her  knew  that  her  head 
was  dough,  if  ever  head  was.  And  all  who 
had  observed  her  school-keeping  career  (she 
never  kept  but  once  in  the  same  place)  pretty 
soon  came  to  the  same  conclusion,  notwith- 
standing her  loaf  of  brains  had  been  three 
months  in  that  intellectual  oven  called  by  her 
mother  the  'cademy. 

So  Mary  Smith  kept  the  school,  and  I  had 
another  delightful  summer  under  her  care  and 
instruction.  I  was  four  years  and  a  half  old 
now,  and  had  grown  an  inch.  I  was  no  tiny, 
whining,  half-scared  baby,  as  in  the  first  sum- 
mer. No,  indeed ;  I  had  been  to  the  winter 
school,  had  read  in  a  class,  and  had  stood  up 
at  the  fire  with  the  great  boys,  had  seen  a 
snow-ball  fight,  and  had  been  accidentally  hit 
once  by  the  icy  missile  of  big-fisted  Joe  Swagger. 

I  looked  down  upon  two  or  three  fresh,  slob- 
bering abecedarians  with  a  pride  of  superiority, 
greater  perhaps   than   I   ever  felt  again.     We 


22  The  District  School 

read  not  in  ab^  eh^  &c.,  but  in  words  that  meant 
something ;  and,  before  the  close  of  the  sum- 
mer, in  what  were  called  the  "Reading  Les- 
sons," that  is,  little  words  arranged  in  little 
sentences. 

Mary  was  the  same  sweet  angel  this  season 
as  the  last.  She  was  forced  to  caution  us 
younglings  pretty  often;  yet  a  caution  from 
her  was  as  effectual  as  would  be  a  frown,  and 
indeed  a  blow,  from  many  others.  At  least,  so 
it  was  with  me.  She  used  to  resort  to  various 
severities  with  the  refractory  and  idle,  and  in 
one  instance  she  used  the  ferule ;  but  we  all 
knew,  and  the  culprit  knew,  that  it  was  well 
deserved. 

At  the  close  of  the  school,  there  was  a  deeper 
sadness  in  our  hearts  than  on  the  last  summer's 
closing  day.  She  had  told  us  that  she  should 
never  be  our  teacher  again,  —  should  probably 
never  meet  many  of  us  again  in  this  world. 
She  gave  us  much  parting  advice  about  loving 
and  obeying  God,  and  loving  and  doing  good 
to  everybody.  She  shed  tears  as  she  talked  to 
us,  and  when  we  were  dismissed,  the  customary 
and  giddy  laugh  was  not  heard.  Many  were 
sobbing  with  grief,  and  even  the  least  sensitive 
were  softened  and  subdued  to  an  unusual  quiet- 
ness. 


As  It  Was  23 

The  last  time  I  ever  saw  Mary  was  Sunday 
evening,  on  my  way  home  from  meeting.  As 
we  passed  Mr.  Carter's,  she  came  out  to  the 
chaise  where  I  sat  between  my  parents,  to  bid 
us  good-by.  The  next  morning  she  left  for 
her  native  town ;  and  before  another  summer, 
she  was  married.  As  Mr.  Carter  soon  moved 
from  our  neighborhood,  the  dear  instructress 
never  visited  it  again. 


24  The  District  School 


Chapter    VI 

Third   Summer  —  Mehitabel    Holt    and 
Other    Instructresses 

THIS  summer,  a  person  named  Mehitabel 
Holt  was  our  teacher.  It  was  with  eager 
delight  that  I  set  out  for  school  on  the  first 
morning.  I  longed  for  the  companionship  and 
the  sports  of  school.  I  had  heard  nothing  about 
the  mistress,  excepting  that  she  was  an  experi- 
enced and  approved  one.  On  my  way,  the 
image  of  something  like  Mary  Smith  arose  to 
my  imagination ;  a  young  lady  with  pleasant 
face  and  voice,  and  a  winning  gentleness  of 
manner.  This  was  natural ;  for  Mary  was  the 
only  mistress  I  had  ever  been  to,  and  in  fact 
the  only  one  I  had  ever  seen,  who  made  any 
impression  on  my  mind  in  her  school-keeping 
capacity.  What,  then,  was  my  surprise  when 
my  eyes  first  fell  on  Mehitabel  Holt !  I  shall 
not  describe  how  nature  had  made  her,  or  time 
had  altered  her.  She  had  been  well-looking, 
indeed  rather  beautiful  once,  I  have  heard;  but, 
if  so,   the  acidity   of  her  temper   had  diffused 


As  It  Was  25 

itself  through,  and  lamentably  corroded  this 
valued  gift  of  nature. 

She  kept  order;  for  her  punishments  were 
horrible,  especially  to  us  little  ones.  She  dun- 
geoned us  in  that  windowless  closet  just  for  a 
whisper.  She  tied  us  to  her  chair-post  for  an 
hour,  because  sportive  nature  tempted  our  fin- 
gers and  toes  into  something  like  play.  If  we 
were  restless  on  our  seats,  wearied  of  our 
posture,  fretted  by  the  heat,  or  sick  of  the 
unintelligible  lesson,  a  twist  of  the  ear,  or  a 
snap  on  the  head  from  her  thimbled  finger, 
reminded  us  that  sitting  perfectly  still  was  the 
most  important  virtue  of  a  little  boy  in  school. 
Our  forenoon  and  afternoon  recess  was  allowed 
to  be  five  minutes  only;  and,  even  during  that 
time,  our  voices  must  not  rise  above  the  tone 
of  quiet  conversation.  That  delightful  exercise 
of  juvenile  lungs,  hallooing,  was  a  capital  crime. 
Our  noonings,  in  which  we  used  formerly  to 
rejoice  in  the  utmost  freedom  of  legs  and  lungs, 
were  now  like  the  noonings  of  the  Sabbath,  in 
the  restraints  imposed  upon  us.  As  Mehitabel 
boarded  at  Capt.  Clark's,  any  ranging  in  the 
fields,  or  raising  of  the  voice,  was  easily  detected 
by  her  watchful  senses. 

As  the  prevalent  idea  in  those  days  respecting 
a  good  school  was,  that  there  should  be  no  more 


26  The  District  School 

sound  and  motion  than  was  absolutely  neces- 
sary, Mehitabel  was,  on  the  whole,  popular  with 
the  parents.  She  kept  us  still,  and  forced  us  to 
get  our  lessons;  and  that  was  something  un- 
common in  a  mistress.  So  she  was  employed 
the  next  summer  to  keep  our  childhood  in 
bondage.  Had  her  strict  rules  been  enforced 
by  anything  resembling  Mary  Smith's  sweet 
and  sympathetic  disposition  and  manners,  they 
would  have  been  endurable.  But,  as  it  was, 
our  schooling  those  two  summers  was  a  pain 
to  the  body,  a  weariness  to  the  mind,  and  a 
disgust  to  the  heart. 

I  shall  not  devote  a  separate  chapter  to  all 
my  summer  teachers.  What  more  I  may  have 
to  say  of  them  I  shall  put  into  this.  They 
were  none  of  them  like  Mehitabel  in  severity, 
nor  all  of  them  equal  to  her  in  usefulness,  and 
none  of  them  equal  in  any  respect  to  Mary 
Smith.  Some  were  very  young,  scarcely  six- 
teen, and  as  unfit  to  manage  that  "  harp  of  a 
thousand  strings,"  the  human  mind,  as  is  the 
unskilled  and  changeful  wind  to  manage  any 
musical  instrument  by  which  science  and  taste 
delight  the  ear.  Some  kept  tolerable  order; 
others  made  the  attempt,  but  did  not  succeed ; 
others  did  not  even  make  the  attempt.  All 
would    doubtless    have    done    better,   had    they 


As  It  Was  27 

been  properly  educated  and  disciplined  them- 
selves. 

After  I  was  ten  years  old,  I  ceased  to  attend 
the  summer  school  except  in  foul  weather,  as 
in  fair  I  was  wanted  at  home  on  the  farm. 
These  scattering  days,  I  and  others  of  nearly 
the  same  age  were  sent  to  school  by  our  parents, 
in  hopes  that  we  should  get  at  least  a  snatch  of 
knowledge.  But  this  rainy-day  schooling  was 
nothing  but  vanity  to  us,  and  vexation  of  spirit 
to  the  mistress.  We  could  read  and  spell 
better  than  the  younger  and  regular  scholars, 
and  were  puffed  up  with  our  own  superiority. 
We  showed  our  contempt  for  the  mistress  and 
her  orders,  by  doing  mischief  ourselves,  and 
leading  others  into  temptation. 

If  she  had  the  boldness  to  apply  the  ferule, 
we  laughed  in  her  face,  unless  her  blows  were 
laid  on  with  something  like  masculine  strength. 
In  case  of  such  severity,  we  waited  for  our 
revenge  till  the  close  of  the  school  for  the  day, 
when  we  took  the  liberty  to  let  saucy  words 
reach  her  ear,  especially  if  the  next  day  was 
likely  to  be  fair,  and  we  of  course  were  not  to 
re-appear  in  her  realm  till  foul  weather  again. 


28  The  District  School 


Chapter    VII 

Little  Books  presented  the  Last  Day  of 
the  School 

THERE  was  one  circumstance  connected 
with  the  history  of  summer  schools  of  so 
great  importance  to  little  folks,  that  it  must  not 
be  omitted.  It  was  this.  The  mistress  felt 
obliged  to  give  little  books  to  all  her  pupils  on 
the  closing  day  of  her  school.  Otherwise  she 
would  be  thought  stingy,  and  half  the  good  she 
had  done  during  the  summer  would  be  canceled 
by  the  omission  of  the  expected  donations.  If 
she  had  the  least  generosity,  or  hoped  to  be 
remembered  with  any  respect  and  affection,  she 
must  devote  a  week's  wages,  and  perhaps  more, 
to  the  purchase  of  these  little  toy-books.  My 
first  present,  of  course,  was  from  Mary  Smith. 
It  was  not  a  little  book  the  first  summer,  but  it 
was  something  that  pleased  me  more. 

The  last  day  of  the  school  had  arrived.  All 
were  sad  that  it  was  now  to  finish.  My  only 
solace  was  that  I  should  now  have  a  little  book, 
for  I  was  not  unmoved  in  the  general  expecta- 


As  It  Was  29 

tion  that  prevailed.  After  the  reading  and 
spelling,  and  all  the  usual  exercises  of  the 
school,  were  over,  Mary  took  from  her  desk  a 
pile  of  the  glittering  little  things  we  were  look- 
ing for.  What  beautiful  covers,  —  red,  yellow, 
blue,  green  !  All  eyes  were  now  centered  on 
the  outspread  treasures.  Admiration  and  ex- 
pectation were  depicted  on  every  face.  Pleas- 
ure glowed  in  every  heart ;  for  the  worst,  as 
well  as  the  best,  calculated  with  certainty  on  a 
present.  The  scholars  were  called  out  one  by 
one  to  receive  the  dazzling  gifts,  beginning  at 
the  oldest.  I,  being  an  abecedarian,  must  wait 
till  the  last ;  but  as  I  knew  that  my  turn  would 
surely  come  in  due  order,  I  was  tolerably 
patient.  But  what  was  my  disappointment, 
my  exceeding  bitterness  of  grief,  when  the  last 
book  on  Mary's  lap  was  given  away,  and  my 
name  not  yet  called !  Every  one  present  had 
received,  except  myself  and  two  others  of  the 
ABC  rank.  I  felt  the  tears  starting  to  my 
eyes ;  my  lips  were  drawn  to  their  closest 
pucker  to  hold  in  my  emotions  from  audible 
outcry.  I  heard  my  fellow-sufFerer  at  my  side 
draw  long  and  heavy  breaths,  the  usual  prelimi- 
naries to  the  bursting  out  of  grief.  This  feel- 
ing, however,  was  but  momentary ;  for  Mary 
immediately    said,    "  Charles    and    Henry    and 


3©  The  District  School 

Susan,  you  may  now  all  come  to  me  together  "  : 
at  the  same  time  her  hand  was  put  into  her 
work-bag.  We  were  at  her  side  in  an  instant, 
and  in  that  time  she  held  in  her  hand  —  what  ? 
Not  three  little  picture-books,  but  what  was  to 
us  a  surprising  novelty,  viz.,  three  little  birds 
wrought  from  sugar  by  the  confectioner's  art. 
I  had  never  seen  or  heard  or  dreamed  of  such  a 
thing.  What  a  revulsion  of  delighted  feeling 
now  swelled  my  little  bosom !  "  If  I  should 
give  you  books,"  said  Mary,  "  you  could  not 
read  them  at  present ;  so  I  have  got  for  you 
what  you  will  like  better  perhaps,  and  there 
will  be  time  enough  for  you  to  have  books, 
when  you  shall  be  able  to  read  them.  So,  take 
these  little  birds,  and  see  how  long  you  can 
keep  them."  We  were  perfectly  satisfied,  and 
even  felt  ourselves  distinguished  above  the  rest. 
My  bird  was  more  to  me  than  all  the  songsters 
in  the  air,  although  it  could  not  fly,  or  sing,  or 
open  its  mouth.  I  kept  it  for  years,  until  by 
accident  it  was  crushed  to  pieces,  and  was  no 
longer  a  bird. 

But  Susan  Clark  —  I  was  provoked  at  her. 
Her  bird  was  nothing  to  her  but  a  piece  of  pcp- 
perminted  sugar,  and  not  a  keepsake  from  Mary 
Smith.  She  had  not  left  the  school-house 
before  she  had  nibbled  off  its  bill. 


As  It  Was  31 

The  next  summer,  my  present  was  the 
"  Death  and  Burial  of  Cock  Robin."  I  could 
then  do  something  more  than  look  at  the 
pictures.  I  could  read  the  tragic  history 
which  was  told  in  verse  below  the  pictured 
representations  of  the  mournful  drama.  How 
I  used  to  gaze  and  wonder  at  what  I  saw  in 
that  little  book !  Could  it  be  that  all  this  really 
took  place;  that  the  sparrow  really  did  do  the 
murderous  deed  with  his  bow  and  his  arrow  ? 
I  never  knew  before  that  birds  had  such  things. 
Then  there  was  the  fish  with  his  dish,  the  rook 
with  his  book,  the  owl  with  his  shovel,  &c.  Yet, 
if  it  were  not  all  true,  why  should  it  be  so  pic- 
tured and  related  in  the  book?  I  had  the  impres- 
sion that  everything  that  was  printed  in  a  book 
was  surely  true ;  and  as  no  one  thought  to 
explain  to  me  the  nature  of  a  fable,  I  went  on 
puzzled  and  wondering,  till  progressive  reason 
at  length  divined  its  meaning.  But  Cock 
Robin,  with  its  red  cover  and  gilded  edges  — 
I  have  it  now.  It  is  the  first  little  book  I 
ever  received,  and  it  was  from  Mary  Smith ; 
and,  as  it  is  the  only  tangible  memento  of  her 
goodness  that  I  possess,  I  shall  keep  it  as  long 
as  I  can. 

I  had  a  similar  present  each  successive 
season,    so    long    as    I    regularly   attended    the 


32  The  District  School 

summer  school.  What  marvels  did  they  con- 
tain !  How  curiosity  and  wonder  feasted  on 
their  contents  !  They  were  mostly  about  giants, 
fairies,  witches,  and  ghosts.  By  this  kind  of 
reading,  superstition  was  trained  up  to  a  mon- 
strous growth ;  and,  as  courage  could  not  thrive 
in  its  cold  and  gloomy  shadow,  it  was  a  sickly 
shoot  for  years.  Giants,  fairies,  witches,  and 
ghosts  were  ready  to  pounce  upon  me  from 
every  dark  corner  in  the  d^time,  and  from  all 
around  in  the  night,  if  I  happened  to  be  alone. 
I  trembled  to  go  to  bed  alone  for  years ;  and  I 
was  often  almost  paralyzed  with  horror  when 
I  chanced  to  wake  in  the  stillness  of  midnight, 
and  my  ever-busy  fancy  presented  the  grim  and 
grinning  images  with  which  I  supposed  darkness 
to  be  peopled. 

I  wish  I  had  all  those  little  books  now.  I 
would  bequeath  them  to  a  national  Lyceum,  as 
a  specimen,  or  a  mark  to  show  what  improve- 
ment has  been  made.  Indeed,  if  improvement 
has  been  made  in  anything,  it  has  been  in  re- 
spect to  children's  books.  When  I  compare 
the  world  of  fact  in  which  the  "  Little  Philoso- 
phers "  of  the  present  day  live,  observe,  and 
enjoy,  with  the  visionary  regions  where  I 
wandered,  wondered,  believed,  and  trembled, 
I  almost  wish  to  be  a  child  again,  to  know  the 


As  It  Was 


33 


pleasure  of  having  earliest  curiosity  fed  with 
fact,  instead  of  fiction  and  folly,  and  to  know 
so  much  about  the  great  world,  with  so  young 
a  mind. 

D 


34  The  District  School 


Chapter  VIII 

Grammar  —  Young   Lady's    Accidence 
Murray  —  Parsing  —  Pope's   Essay 

/^N  my  fifth  summer,  at  the  age  of  seven 
^^  and  a  half,  I  commerced  the  study  of 
grammar.  The  book  generally  used  in  our 
school  by  beginners,  was  called  the  Young 
Lady's  Accidence.  I  had  the  honor  of  a  new 
one.  The  Young  Lady's  Accidence !  How 
often  have  I  gazed  on  that  last  word,  and 
wondered  what  it  meant !  Even  now,  I  can- 
not define  it,  though,  of  course,  I  have  a  guess 
at  its  meaning.  Let  me  turn  this  very  minute 
to  that  oracle  of  definitions,  the  venerable  Web- 
ster :  "  A  small  book  containing  the  rudiments 
of  grammar."  That  is  it,  then.  But  what  an 
intelligible  and  appropriate  term  for  a  little 
child's  book  !  The  mysterious  title,  however, 
was  most  appropriate  to  the  contents  of  the 
volume;  for  they  were  all  mysterious,  and  that 
for  years,  to  my  poor  understanding. 

Well,  my   first  lesson  was  to  get  the  Parts 
of  Speech,  as  they  are  called.     What  a  grand 


As  It  Was  35 

achievement  to  engrave  on  my  memory  these 
ten  separate  and  strange  words !  With  vv^hat 
ardor  I  took  my  lesson  from  the  mistress,  and 
trudged  to  my  seat !  It  was  a  new  study,  and 
it  was  the  first  day  of  the  school,  moreover, 
before  the  bashfulness  occasioned  by  a  strange 
teacher  had  subsided,  and  before  the  spirit  of 
play  had  been  excited.  So  there  was  nothing 
at  the  moment  to  divert  me  from  the  lofty 
enterprise. 

Reader,  let  your  mind's  eye  peep  into  that 
old  school-house.  See  that  little  boy  in  the 
second  high  seat  from  the  front,  in  home-made 
and  home-dyed  pea-green  cotton  jacket  and 
trowsers,  with  a  clean  Monday  morning  collar 
turned  out  from  his  neck.  His  new  book  is 
before  him  on  the  bench,  kept  open  by  his  left 
hand.  His  right  supports  his  head  on  its  palm, 
with  the  corresponding  elbow  pressed  on  the 
bench.  His  lips  move,  but  at  first  very  slowly. 
He  goes  over  the  whole  lesson  in  a  low  whisper. 
He  now  looks  off  his  book,  and  pronounces  two 
or  three  of  the  first,  —  article,  noun,  pronoun  ; 
then  just  glances  at  the  page,  and  goes  on  with 
two  or  three  more.  He  at  length  repeats  sev- 
eral words  without  looking.  Finally,  he  goes 
through  the  long  catalogue,  with  his  eye  fastened 
on   vacancy.     At   length,  how   his  lips  flutter, 


^6  The  District  School 

and  you  hear  the  parts  of  speech  whizzing  from 
his  tongue  like  feathered  arrows  ! 

There,  the  rigmarole  is  accomplished.  He 
starts  up,  and  is  at  the  mistress's  side  in  a 
moment.  "  Will  you  hear  my  lesson,  ma'am  ? " 
As  she  takes  the  book,  he  looks  directly  in  her 
face,  and  repeats  the  aforementioned  words 
loudly  and  distinctly,  as  if  there  were  no  fear 
of  failure.  He  has  got  as  far  as  the  adverb ; 
but  now  he  hesitates,  his  eye  •drops,  his  lips  are 
open  ready  for  utterance,  but  the  word  does  not 
come.  He  shuts  them,  he  presses  them  hard 
together,  he  puts  his  finger  to  them,  and  there 
is  a  painful  hiatus  in  his  recitation,  a  discon- 
nection, an  anti  to  the  very  word  he  is  after. 
"  Conjunction,"  says  the  mistress.  The  little 
hand  leaves  the  lips,  at  the  same  time  that  an 
involuntary  "  Oh  !  "  bursts  out  from  them.  He 
lifts  his  head  and  his  eye,  and  repeats  with  spirit 
the  delinquent  word,  and  goes  on  without  hesi- 
tation to  the  end  of  the  lesson.  "Very  well," 
says  the  teacher,  or  the  hearer  q£jthe^_5choQlj 
for  she  rather  listened  to  than  instructed  her 
pupils.  "  Get  so  far  for  the  next  lesson." 
The  child  bows,  whirls  on  his  heel,  and  trips  to 
his  seat,  mightily  satisfied  excepting  with  that 
one  failure  of  memory,  when  that  thundering 
word,  conjunction^  refused  to  come  at    his  will. 


As  It  Was  37 

But  that  word  he  never  forgot  again.  The 
failure  fastened  it  in  his  memory  forever.  This 
pea-green  boy  was  myself,  the  present  historian 
of  the  scene. 

My  next  lesson  lagged  a  little ;  my  third 
seemed  quite  dull;  my  fourth  I  was  two  days 
in  getting.  At  the  end  of  the  week,  I  thought 
that  I  could  get  along  through  the  world  very 
well  without  grammar,  as  my  grandfather  had 
done  before  me.  But  my  mistress  did  not  agree 
with  me,  and  I  was  forced  to  go  on.  I  con- 
trived, however,  to  make  easy  work  of  the  study. 
I  got  frequent,  but  very  short  lessons,  only  a 
single  sentence  at  a  time.  This  was  easily 
committed  to  memory,  and  would  stay  on  till 
I  could  run  up  and  toss  it  off  in  recitation,  after 
which  it  did  not  trouble  me  more.  The  recol- 
lection of  it  puts  me  in  mind  of  a  little  boy 
lugging  in  wood,  a  stick  at  a  time.  My  teacher 
was  so  ignorant  of  the  philosophy  of  mind,  that 
she  did  not  know  that  this  was  not  as  good  a 
way  as  any;  and  indeed,  she  praised  me  for  my 
smartness.  The  consequence  was,  that,  after  I 
had  been  through  the  book,  I  could  scarcely 
have  repeated  ten  lines  of  it,  excepting  the  very 
first  and  the  very  last  lessons.  Had  it  been 
ideas  instead  of  words  that  had  thus  escaped 
from    my    mind,    the    case    would    have    been 


38  The  District  School 

different.  As  it  was,  the  only  matter  of  regret 
was,  that  I  had  been  forming  a  bad  habit,  and 
had  imbibed  an  erroneous  notion,  to  wit,  that 
lessons  were  to  be  learned  simply  to  be  recited. 
The  next  winter  this  Accidence  was  com- 
mitted, not  to  memory,  but  to  oblivion ;  for,  on 
presenting  it  to  the  master  the  first  day  of  the 
school,  he  told  me  it  was  old-fashioned  and  out 
of  date,  and  I  must  have  Murray's  Abridgment. 
So  Murray  was  purchased,  aad  I  commenced 
the  study  of  grammar  again,  excited  by  the 
novelty  of  a  new  and  clean  and  larger  book. 
But  this  soon  became  even  more  dull  and  dry 
than  its  predecessor ;  for  it  was  more  than  twice 
the  size,  and  the  end  of  it  was  at  the  most  dis- 
couraging distance  of  months,  if  not  of  years. 
I  got  only  half  way  through  the  verb  this  winter. 
The  next  summer  I  began  the  book  again,  and 
arrived  at  the  end  of  the  account  of  the  parts 
of  speech.  The  winter  after,  I  went  over  the 
same  ground  again,  and  got  through  the  rules 
of  syntax,  and  felt  that  I  had  accomplished  a 
great  work.  The  next  summer  I  reviewed  the 
whole  grammar;  for  the  mistress  thought  it 
necessary  to  have  **  its  most  practical  and  im- 
portant parts  firmly  fixed  in  the  memory,  before 
attempting  the  higher  exercises  of  the  study." 
On  the  third  winter,  I  began  to  apply  my  sup- 


As  It  Was  39 

posed  knowledge  in  the  process  of  passings  as  it 
was  termed  by  the  master.  The  very  pronun- 
ciation of  this  word  shows  how  little  the  teacher 
exercised  the  power  of  independent  thought. 
He  had  been  accustomed  to  hear  parse  called 
pass;  and,  though  the  least  reflection  would 
have  told  him  it  was  not  correct,  that  reflection 
came  not,  and  for  years  the  grammarians  of  our 
district  school  passed.  However,  it  was  rightly 
so  called.  It  was  passing,  as  said  exercise  was 
performed ;  passing  over,  by,  around,  away, 
from  the  science  of  grammar,  without  coming 
near  it,  or  at  least  without  entering  into  it 
with  much  understanding  of  its  nature.  Mode, 
tense,  case,  government,  and  agreement  were 
ever  flying  from  our  tongues,  to  be  sure ;  but 
their  meaning  was  as  much  a  mystery  as  the 
hocus  pocus  of  a  juggler. 

At  first  we  parsed  in  simple  prose,  but  soon 
entered  on  poetry.  Poetry — a  thing  which  to 
our  apprehension  differed  from  prose  in  this 
only,  that  each  line  began  with  a  capital  letter, 
and  ended  usually  with  a  word  sounding  like 
another  word  at  the  end  of  the  adjoining  line. 
But,  unskilled  as  we  all  generally  were  in  the 
art  of  parsing,  some  of  us  came  to  think  our- 
selves wonderfully  acute  and  dexterous  never- 
theless.   When  we  perceived  the  master  himself 


40  The  District  School 

to  be  in  doubt  and  perplexity,  then  we  felt  our- 
selves on  a  level  with  him,  and  ventured  to 
oppose  our  guess  to  his.  And  if  he  appeared  a 
dunce  extraordinary,  as  vijas  sometimes  the 
case,  we  used  to  put  ourselves  into  the  potential 
mood  pretty  often,  as  we  knew  that  our  teacher 
could  never  assume  the  ^imperative  on  this 
subject. 

TThe  fact  is,  neither  we  nor  the  teacher 
entered  into  the  writer's  meaning.  The  gen- 
eral plan  of  the  work  was  not  surveyed,  nor  the 
particular  sense  of  separate  passages  examined. 
We  could  not  do  it,  perhaps  from  the  want  of 
maturity  of  mind ;  the  teacher  did  not,  because 
he  had  never  been  accustomed  to  anything  of 
the  kind  in  his  own  education;  and  it  never 
occurred  to  him  that  he  could  deviate  from  the 
track,  or  improve  upon  the  methods  of  those 
who  taught  himr/  Pope's  Essay  on  Man  was 
the  parsing  manual  used  by  the  most  advanced. 
No  wonder,  then,  that  pupil  and  pedagogue  so 
often  got  bewildered  and  lost  in  a  world  of 
thought  like  this ;  for,  however  well  ordered  a 
creation  it  might  be,  it  was  scarcely  better  than 
a  chaos  to  them. 

In  closing,  I  ought  to  remark,  that  all  our 
teachers  were  not  thus  ignorant  of  grammar, 
although   they   did   not   perhaps   take  the    best 


As  It  Was 


41 


way  to  teach  it.  In  speaking  thus  of  this 
department  of  study,  and  also  of  others,  I  have 
reference  to  the  more  general  character  of 
schoolmasters  and  schools. 


42  The  District  School 


Chapter    IX 

The  Particular  Master — Various  Methods 
of  Punishment 

T  HAVE  given  some  account  of  my  first  winter 
•*■  at  school.  Of  my  second,«lhird,  and  fourth, 
I  have  nothing  of  importance  to  say.  The  rou- 
tine was  the  same  in  each.  The  teachers  were 
remarkable  for  nothing  in  particular :  if  they 
were,  I  have  too  indistinct  a  remembrance  of 
their  characters  to  portray  them  now  j  so  I  will 
pass  them  by,  and  describe  the  teacher  of  my 
fifth. 

He  was  called  the  particular  master.  The 
scholars  in  speaking  of  him,  would  say,  "  He  is 
so  particular."  The  first  morning  of  the  school, 
he  read  us  a  long  list  of  regulations  to  be  ob- 
served in  school,  and  out.  "There  are  more 
rules  than  you  could  shake  a  stick  at  before 
your  arm  would  ache,"  said  some  one.  "  And 
if  the  master  should  shake  a  stick  at  every  one 
who  should  disobey  them,  he  would  not  find 
time  to  do  much  else,"  said  another.  Indeed, 
it  proved  to  be  so.     Half  the  time  was  spent 


As  It  Was  43 

in  calling  up  scholars  for  little  misdemeanors, 
trying  to  make  them  confess  their  faults,  and 
promise  stricter  obedience,  or  in  devising  pun- 
ishments and  inflicting  them.  J/Vlmost  every 
method  was  tried  that  was  ever  suggested  to 
the  brain  of  pedagogue.  Some  were  feruled 
on  the  hand;  some  were  whipped  with  a  rod  on 
the  back;  some  were  compelled  to  hold  out,  at 
arm's  length,  the  largest  book  which  could  be 
found,  or  a  great  leaden  inkstand,  till  muscle 
and  nerve,  bone  and  marrow,  were  tortured 
with  the  continued  exertion.  If  the  arm  bent 
or  inclined  from  the  horizontal  level,  it  was 
forced  back  again  by  a  knock  of  the  ruler  on 
the  elbow.  I  well  recollect  that  one  poor 
fellow  forgot  his  suffering  by  fainting  quite 
away.  This  lingering  punishment  was  more 
befitting  the  vengeance  of  a  savage,  than  the 
corrective  efforts  of  a  teacher  of  the  young  in 
civilized  life. 

He  had  recourse  to  another  method,  almost, 
perhaps  quite,  as  barbarous.  It  was  standing 
in  a  stooping  posture,  with  the  finger  on  the 
head  of  a  nail  in  the  floor.  It  was  a  position 
not  particularly  favorable  to  health  of  body  or 
soundness  of  mind ;  the  head  being  brought 
about  as  low  as  the  knees,  the  blood  rushing 
to  it,  ajid   pressing   unnaturally   on    the    veins. 


44  The  District  School 

often  caused  a  dull  pain,  and  a  staggering  dizzi- 
ness. That  man's  judgment  or  mercy  must  have 
been  topsy-turvy  also,  vi^ho  first  set  the  example 
of  such  an  infliction  on  those  whose  progress  in 
knowledge  depended  somewhat  on  their  being 
kept  right  end  upward. 

The  above  punishments  were  sometimes 
rendered  doubly  painful  by  their  taking  place 
directly  in  front  of  the  enormous  fire,  so  that 
the  pitiable  culprit  was  roasted  as  well  as  racked. 
Another  mode  of  punishment — an  anti-whisper- 
ing process  —  was  setting  the  jaws  at  a  painful 
distance  apart,  by  inserting  a  chip  perpendicu- 
larly between  the  teeth.  Then  we  occasionally 
had  our  hair  pulled,  our  noses  tweaked,  our  cars 
pinched  and  boxed,  or  snapped,  perhaps,  with 
India-rubber ;  this  last  the  perfection  of  ear- 
tingling  operations.  There  were  minor  penal- 
ties, moreover,  for  minor  faults.  The  uneasy 
urchins  were  clapped  into  the  closet,  thrust 
under  the  desk,  or  perched  on  its  top.  Boys 
were  made  to  sit  in  the  girls'  seats,  amusing  the 
school  with  their  grinning  awkwardness ;  and 
girls  were  obliged  to  sit  on  the  masculine  side 
of  the  aisle,  with  crimsoned  necks,  and  faces 
buried  in  their  aprons. 

But  I  have  dwelt  long  enough  on  the  various 
penalties  of  the  numerous  violations  of  Master 


As  It  Was  45 

Particular's  many  orders.  After  all,  he  did  not 
keep  an  orderly  school.  ^  The  cause  of  the  mis- 
chief was,  he  was  variable.  He  wanted  that 
persevering  firmness  and  uniformity  which  alone 
can  insure  success.  He  had  so  many  regula- 
tions, that  he  could  not  stop  at  all  times  to 
notice  the  transgressions  of  them.  The  schol- 
ars, not  knowing  with  certainty  what  to  expect, 
dared  to  run  the  risk  of  disobedience.  The 
consequence  of  this  procedure  on  the  part  of 
the  ruler  and  the  ruled  was,  that  the  school 
bccffme  uncommonly  riotous  before  the  close 
of  the  season.  The  larger  scholars  soon  broke 
over  all  restraint ;  but  the  little  ones  were  nar- 
rowly watched  and  restricted  somewhat  longer. 
But  these  gradually  grew  unmindful  of  the  un- 
stable authority,  and  finally  contemned  it  with 
almost  insolent  effrontery,  unless  the  master's 
temper-kindled  eye  was  fixed  directly  and  men- 
acingly upon  them.  Thus  the  many  regula- 
tions were  like  so  many  cobwebs,  through  which 
the  great  flies  would  break  at  once,  and  so  tear 
and  disorder  the  net  that  it  would  not  hold  even 
the  little  ones,  or  at  all  answer  the  purpose  for 
which  it  was  spun. 

I  would  not  have  it  understood  that  this 
master  was  singular  in  his  punishments  ;  for 
such  methods  of  correcting  offenders  have  been 


46 


The  District  School 


in  use  time  out  of  mind.  He  was  distinguished 
only  for  resorting  to  them  more  frequently 
than  any  other  instructor  within  my  own  obser- 
vation. The  truth  is,  that  it  seemed  to  be  the 
prevailing  opinion  both  among  teachers  ihrd^ 
parents,  that  boys  and  girls  would  play  and  be 
mischievous  at  any  rate,  and  that  consequently 
masters  must  punish  in  some  way  or  other. 
It  was  a  matter  of  course ;  nothing  better 
was  expected.  « 


As  It  Was  47 


Chapter    X 

How  they  used  to  read  in  the  Old 
School-house  in  District  No.  V 

TN  this  description  of  the  District  School,  as 
-*■  it  was^  that  frequent  and  important  exercise, 
Reading,  must  not  be  omitted,  —  Reading  as  it 
was.  Advance,  then,  ye  readers  of  the  Old 
School-house,  and  let  us  witness  your  perform- 
ances. 

We  will  suppose  it  is  the  first  day  of  the 
school.  "  Come  and  read,"  says  the  mistress 
to  a  little  flaxen-headed  creature  of  doubtful 
gender ;  for  the  child  is  in  petticoats,  and  sits 
on  the  female  side,  as  close  as  possible  to  a 
guardian  sister.  But  then  those  coarser  fea- 
tures, tanned  complexion,  and  close-clipped  hair, 
with  other  minutiae  of  aspect,  are  somewhat 
contradictory  to  the  feminine  dress.  "Come 
and  read."  It  is  the  first  time  that  this  he  or 
she  was  ever  inside  of  a  school-house,  and  in 
the  presence  of  a  school-ma'am,  according  to 
recollection,  and  the  order  is  heard  with  shrink- 
ing timidity.     But   the  sister  whispers   an  en- 


48  The  District  School 

couraging  word,  and  helps  "tot"  down  from 
the  seat,  who  creeps  out  into  the  aisle,  and  hesi- 
tates along  down  to  the  teacher,  biting  his  fin- 
gers, or  scratching  his  head,  perhaps  both,  to 
relieve  the  embarrassment  of  the  novel  situa- 
tion. "What  is  your  name,  dear  ?  "  ^''Tholo- 
mon  Icherthon"  lisps  the  now-discovered  he,  in 
a  phlegm-choked  voice,  scarce  above  a  whisper. 
"  Put  your  hands  down  by  your  side,  Solomon, 
and  make  a  bow."  He  ob|^s,  if  a  short  and 
hasty  jerk  of  the  head  is  a  bow.  The  alpha- 
betical page  of  the  spelling-book  is  presented, 
and  he  is  asked,  "  What's  that  ?  "  But  he  can- 
not tell.  He  is  but  two  years  and  a  half  old, 
and  has  been  sent  to  school  to  relieve  his 
mother  from  trouble,  rather  than  to  learn.  No 
one  at  home  has  yet  shown  or  named  a  letter 
to  him.  He  has  never  had  even  that  celebrated 
character,  round  O,  pointed  out  to  his  notice. 
It  was  an  older  beginner,  most  probably,  who, 
being  asked  a  similar  question  about  the  first 
letter  of  the  alphabet,  replied,  "  I  know  him  by 
sight,  but  can't  tell  him  by  name."  But  our 
namesake  of  the  wise  man  does  not  know  the 
gentleman  even  by  sight,  nor  any  of  his  twenty- 
five  companions. 

Solomon  Richardson  has  at  length  said  A,  B, 
C,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life.      He  has  read. 


As  It  Was  49 

"  That's  a  nice  boy ;  make  another  bow,  and 
go  to  your  seat."  He  gives  another  jerk  of 
the  head,  and  whirls  on  his  heel,  and  trots  back 
to  his  seat,  meeting  the  congratulatory  smile  of 
his  sister  with  a  satisfied  grin,  which,  put  into 
language,  would  be,  "  There,  I've  read,  ha'nt 
I?" 

The  little  chit,  at  first  so  timid,  and  almost 
inaudible  in  enunciation,  in  a  few  days  becomes 
accustomed  to  the  place  and  the  exercise  ;  and, 
in  obedience  to  the  "Speak  up  loud,  that's  a 
good  boy,"  he  soon  pipes  off  J-er^  B-er^  C-er^ 
&c.,  with  a  far-ringing  shrillness,  that  vies  even 
with  chanticleer  himself.  Solomon  went  all 
the  pleasant  days  of  the  first  summer,  and 
nearly  every  day  of  the  next,  before  he  knew 
all  the  letters  by  sight,  or  could  call  them  by 
name.  Strange  that  it  should  take  so  long  to 
become  acquainted  with  these  twenty-six  char- 
acters, when,  in  a  month's  time,  the  same  child 
becomes  familiar  with  the  forms  and  the  names 
of  hundreds  of  objects  in  nature  around,  or  in 
use  about  his  father's  house,  shop,  or  farm! 
Not  so  very  strange  either,  if  we  only  reflect  a 
moment.  Take  a  child  into  a  party  of  twenty- 
six  persons,  all  strangers,  and  lead  him  from 
one  to  the  other  as  fast  as  his  little  feet  can 
patter,  telling  him   their   respective  names,  all 

E 


^o  The  District  School 

in  less  than  ten  minutes ;  do  this  four  times  a 
clay  even,  and  you  would  not  be  surprised  if  he 
should  be  weeks  at  least,  if  not  months,  in 
learning  to  designate  them  all  by  their  names. 
Is  it  any  matter  of  surprise,  then,  that  the  child 
should  be  so  long  in  becoming  acquainted  with 
the  alphabetical  party,  when  he  is  introduced  to 
them  precisely  in  the  manner  above  described  ? 
Then,  these  are  not  of  different  heights,  com- 
plexions, dresses,  motions,  aifJ  tones  of  voice, 
as  a  living  company  have.  But  there  they 
stand  in  an  unalterable  line,  all  in  the  same 
complexions  and  dress  ;  all  just  so  tall,  just  so 
motionless  and  mute  and  uninteresting,  and,  of 
course,  the  most  unrememberable  figures  in  the 
world.  No  wonder  that  some  should  go  to 
school,  and  "  sit  on  a  bench,  and  say  A  B  C," 
as  a  little  girl  said,  for  a  whole  year,  and  still 
find  themselves  strangers  to  some  of  the  sable 
company,  even  then.  Our  little  reader  is  per- 
mitted at  length  to  turn  a  leaf,  and  he  finds 
himself  in  the  region  of  the  Abs,  —  an  ex- 
panse of  little  syllables,  making  me,  who  am 
given  to  comparisons,  think  of  an  extensive 
plain  whereon  there  is  no  tree  or  shrub  or 
plant,  or  anything  else  inviting  to  the  eye,  and 
nothing  but  little  stones,  stones,  stones,  all 
about  the  same  size.     And  what  must  the  poor 


As  It  Was  51 

little  learner  do  here  ?  Why,  he  must  hop  from 
cobble  to  cobble,  if  I  may  so  call  ab^  eh^  ib^  as 
fast  as  he  possibly  can,  naming  each  one,  after 
the  voice  of  the  teacher,  as  he  hurries  along. 
And  this  must  be  kept  up  until  he  can  denomi- 
nate each  lifeless  and  uninteresting  object  on 
the  face  of  the  desert. 

After  more  or  less  months,  the  weary  novice 
ceases  to  be  an  Ab-ite.  He  is  next  put  into 
whole  words  of  one  syllable,  arranged  in  col- 
umns. The  first  word  we  read  in  Perry  that 
conveyed  anything  like  an  idea,  was  the  first 
one  in  the  first  column,  —  the  word  ache:  ay, 
we  did  not  easily  forget  what  this  meant,  when 
once  informed ;  the  corresponding  idea,  or  rather 
feeling,  was  so  often  in  our  consciousness.  Jche^ 
—  a  very  appropriate  term  with  which  to  begin 
a  course  of  education  so  abounding  in  pains  of 
body  and  of  mind. 

After  five  pages  of  this  perpendicular  reading, 
if  I  may  so  call  it,  we  entered  on  the  horizon- 
tal, that  is,  on  words  arranged  in  sentences  and 
paragraphs.  This  was  reading  in  good  earnest, 
as  grown-up  folks  did,  and  something  with 
which  tiny  childhood  would  be  very  naturally 
puffed  up.  "  Easy  Lessons  "  was  the  title  of 
about  a  dozen  separate  chapters,  scattered  at 
intervals  among  the  numerous  spelling  columns, 


52  The  District  School 

like  brambly  openings  here  and  there  amid  the 
tall  forest.  Easy  lessons,  because  they  consisted 
mostly  of  little  monosyllabic  words,  easy  to  be 
pronounced.  But  they  were  not  easy  as  it  re- 
gards being  understood.  They  were  made  up 
of  abstract  moral  sentences,  presenting  but  a 
very  faint  meaning  to  the  child,  if  any  at  all. 
Their  particular  application  to  his  own  conduct 
he  would  not  perceive,  of  course,  without  help; 
and  this  it  scarcely  ever  entered!  the  head  or  the 
heart  of  the  teacher  to  afford. 

In  the  course  of  summers,  how  many  I  for- 
get, we  arrived  at  the  most  manly  and  dignified 
reading  the  illustrious  Perry  had  prepared  for  us. 
It  was  entitled  "  Moral  Tales  and  Fables."  In 
these  latter,  beasts  and  birds  talked  like  men  ; 
and  strange  sorts  of  folks,  called  Jupiter,  Mer- 
cury, and  Juno,  were  pictured  as  sitting  up  in 
the  clouds,  and  talking  with  men  and  animals 
on  earth,  or  as  down  among  them  doing  very 
unearthly  things.  To  quote  language  in  com- 
mon use,  we  kind  o'  believed  it  all  to  be  true^  and 
yet  we  kind  o*  didnU.  As  for  the  "  moral  "  at 
the  end,  teachers  never  dreamed  of  attracting 
our  attention  to  it.  Indeed,  we  had  no  other 
idea  of  all  these  Easy  Lessons,  Tales,  and 
Fables,  than  that  they  were  to  be  syllabled  from 
the  tongue  in  the  task  of  reading.     That  they 


As  It  Was  53 

were  to  sink  into  the  heart,  and  make  us  better 
in  life,  never  occurred  to  our  simple  understand- 
ings. 

Among  all  the  rest  were  five  pieces  of  poetry, 
—  charming  stuff  to  read ;  the  words  would 
come  along  one  after  another  so  easily,  and  the 
lines  would  jingle  so  pleasantly  together  at  the 
end,  tickling  the  ear  like  two  beads  in  a  rattle. 
"  Oh  !  give  us  poetry  to  read,  of  all  things,"  we 
thought. 

We  generally  passed  directly  from  the  spell- 
ing-book to  the  reading-book  of  the  first  class, 
although  we  were  ranked  the  second  class  still. 
Or  perhaps  we  took  a  book  which  had  been  for- 
merly used  by  the  first  class  ;  for  a  new  reading- 
book  was  generally  introduced  once  in  a  few 
years  in  compliance  with  the  earnest  recommen- 
dation of  the  temporary  teacher.  While  the 
first  class  were  in  Scott's  Lessons,  we  of  the 
second  were  pursuing  their  tracks,  not  altogether 
understandingly,  through  Adams'  Understanding 
Reader.  When  a  new  master  persuaded  them 
into  Murray,  then  we  were  admitted  into  Scott. 

The  principal  requisites  in  reading,  in  these 
days,  were  to  read  fast,  mind  the  "  stops  and 
marks,"  and  speak  up  loud.  As  for  suiting  the 
tone  to  the  meaning,  no  such  thing  was  dreamed 
of,  in  our  school  at  least.     As  much  emphasis 


54  The  District  School 

was  laid  on  an  insignificant  of  or  and  as  on  the 
most  important  word  in  the  piece.  But  no 
wonder  we  did  not  know  how  to  vary  our  tones, 
for  we  did  not  always  know  the  meaning  of  the 
words,  or  enter  into  the  general  spirit  of  the 
composition.  This  was  very  frequently,  indeed 
almost  always,  the  case  with  the  majority  even 
of  the  first  class.  Parliamentary  prose  and  Mil- 
tonic  verse  were  just  about  as  good  as  Greek 
for  the  purpose  of  modulating  die  voice  accord- 
ing to  meaning.  It  scarcely  ever  entered  the 
heads  of  our  teachers  to  question  us  about  the 
ideas  hidden  in  the  great,  long  words  and  spa- 
cious sentences.  It  is  possible  that  they  did 
not  always  discover  it  themselves.  "  Speak  up 
there,  and  not  read  like  a  mouse  in  a  cheese  ; 
and  mind  your  stops,"  —  such  were  the  princi- 
pal directions  respecting  the  important  art  of 
elocution.  Important  it  was  most  certainly  con- 
sidered ;  for  each  class  must  read  twice  in  the 
forenoon,  and  the  same  in  the  afternoon,  from 
a  quarter  to  half  an  hour  each  time,  according 
to  the  size  of  the  class.  Had  they  read  but  once 
or  twice,  and  but  little  at  a  time,  and  this  with 
nice  and  very  profitable  attention  to  tone  and 
sense,  parents  would  have  thought  the  master 
most  miserably  deficient  in  duty,  and  their  chil- 
dren cheated  out  of  their  rights,  notwithstanding 


As  It  Was  55 

the  time  thus  saved  should  be  most  assiduously 
devoted  to  other  all-important  branches  of  edu- 
cation. 

It  ought  not  to  be  omitted,  that  the  Bible, 
particularly  the  New  Testament,  was  the  read- 
ing twice  a  day,  generally,  for  all  the  classes 
adequate  to  words  of  more  than  one  syllable. 
It  was  the  only  reading  of  several  of  the  younger 
classes  under  some  teachers.  On  this  practice 
I  shall  make  but  a  single  remark.  As  far  as 
my  own  experience  and  observation  extended, 
reverence  for  the  sacred  volume  was  not  deep- 
ened by  this  constant  but  exceedingly  careless 
use. 


56  The  District  School 


Chapter  XI 
How  they  used  to  spell 

THERE,  the  class  have  read  ;  but  they  have 
something  else  to  do  before  they  take 
their  seats.  "  Shut  your  books,"  says  he  who 
has  been  hearing  them  read.  What  makes  this 
row  of  little  countenances  brighten  up  so  sud- 
denly, especially  the  upper  end  of  it  ?  What 
wooden  faces  and  leaden  eyes,  two  minutes 
ago!  The  reading  was  nothing  to  them, — 
those  select  sentences  and  maxims  in  Perry's 
spelling-book  which  are  tucked  in  between  the 
fables.  It  is  all  as  dull  as  a  dirge  to  those  life- 
loving  boys  and  girls.  They  almost  drowsed 
while  they  stood  up  in  their  places.  But  they 
are  fully  awake  now.  They  are  going  to  spell. 
But  this  in  itself  is  the  driest  exercise  to  pre- 
pare for,  and  the  driest  to  perform,  of  the 
whole  round.  The  child  cares  no  more  in  his 
heart  about  the  arrangement  of  vowels  and 
consonants  in  the  orthography  of  words,  than 
he  does  how  many  chips  lie  one  above  another 
at   the  school-house  wood-pile.   \  But    he   does 


As  It  Was  57 

care  whether  he  is  at  the  head  or  foot  of  his 
class  ;  whether  the  money  dangles  from  his  own 
neck  or  another's!/  This  is  the  secret  of  the 
interest  in  spelling.  Emulation  is  awakened, 
ambition  roused.  There  is  something  like  the 
tug  of  strength  in  the  wrestle,  something  of 
the  alternation  of  hope  and  fear  in  a  game  of 
chance.  There  has  been  a  special  preparation 
for  the  trial.  Observe  this  class  any  day,  half 
an  hour  before  they  are  called  up  to  read.  What 
a  flitting  from  top  to  bottom  of  the  spelling 
column,  and  what  a  flutter  of  lips  and  hissing 
of  utterance !  Now  the  eye  twinkles  on  the 
page  to  catch  a  word,  and  now  it  is  fixed  on 
the  empty  air,  while  the  orthography  is  syl- 
labled over  and  over  again  in  mind,  until  at 
length  it  is  syllabled  on  the  memory.  But  the 
time  of  trial  has  come ;  they  have  only  to  read 
first.  "The  third  class  may  come  and  read." 
"  O  dear,  I  haven't  got  my  spelling  lesson," 
mutters  Charlotte  to  herself.  She  has  just 
begun  the  art  of  writing  this  winter,  and  she 
lingered  a  little  too  long  at  her  hooks  and  tram- 
mels. The  lesson  seems  to  her  to  have  as 
many  again  hard  words  in  it  as  common. 
What  a  flutter  she  is  in  !  She  got  up  above 
George  in  the  forenoon,  and  she  would  not  get 
down   again  for  anything.      She  is  as  slow  in 


58  The  District  School 

coming  from  her  seat  as  she  possibly  can  be 
and  keep  moving.  She  makes  a  chink  in  her 
book  with  her  finger,  and  every  now  and  then, 
during  the  reading  exercise,  steals  a  glance  at  a 
difficult  word. 

But  the  reading  is  over,  and  what  a  brighten- 
ing up,  as  was  said  before,  with  the  exception, 
perhaps,  of  two  or  three  idle  or  stupid  boys  at 
that  less  honorable  extremity  of  the  class  called 
the  foot !  That  boy  at  the  l^ad  —  no,  it  was 
a  boy ;  but  Harriet  has  at  length  got  above 
him ;  and,  when  girls  once  get  to  the  head,  get 
them  away  from  it  if  you  can.  Once  put  the 
"  pride  of  place "  into  their  hearts,  and  how 
they  will  queen  it !  Then  they  are  more  sen- 
sitive regarding  anything  that  might  lower 
them  in  the  eyes  of  others,  and  seem  the  least 
like  disgrace.  I  have  known  a  little  girl  to  cry 
the  half  of  one  day,  and  look  melancholy  the 
whole  of  the  next,  on  losing  her  place  at  the 
head.  Girls  are  more  likely  to  arrive  at  and 
keep  the  first  place  in  the  class,  in  consequence 
of  a  little  more  help  from  mother  nature  than 
boys  get.  I  believe  that  they  generally  have  a 
memory  more  fitted  for  catching  and  holding 
words  and  other  signs  addressed  to  the  eye, 
than  the  other  sex.  That  girl  at  the  head  has 
studied  her  spelling  lesson,  until  she  is  as  con- 


As  It  Was  59 

fident  of  every  word  as  the  unerring  Perry  him- 
self. She  can  spell  every  word  in  the  column, 
in  the  order  it  stands,  without  the  master's 
"  putting  it  out,"  she  has  been  over  it  so  many 
times.  "  Now,  Mr.  James,  get  up  again  if  you 
can,"  thinks  Harriet.  I  pity  you,  poor  girl ; 
for  James  has  an  ally  that  will  blow  over  your 
proud  castle  in  the  air.  Old  Boreas,  the  king 
of  the  winds,  will  order  out  a  snow-storm  by 
and  by,  to  block  up  the  roads,  so  that  none 
but  booted  and  weather-proof  males  can  get  to 
school ;  and  you.  Miss,  must  lose  a  day  or  two, 
and  then  find  yourself  at  the  foot  with  those 
blockhead  boys  who  always  abide  there.  But 
let  it  not  be  thought  that  all  those  foot  lads  are 
deficient  in  intellect.  Look  at  them  when  the 
master's  back  is  turned,  and  you  will  see  mis- 
chievous ingenuity  enough  to  convince  you  that 
they  might  surpass  even  James  and  Harriet,  had 
some  other  faculties  been  called  into  exercise 
besides  the  mere  memory  of  verbalities. 

The  most  extraordinary  spelling,  and  indeed 
reading  machine,  in  our  school,  was  a  boy  whom 
I  shall  call  Memorus  Wordwell.  He  was 
mighty  and  wonderful  in  the  acquisition  and 
remembrance  of  words,  —  of  signs  without  the 
ideas  signified.  The  alphabet  he  acquired  at 
home  before  he  was  two  years  old.     What  exul- 


6o  The  District  School 

tation  of  parents,  what  exclamation  from  admir- 
ing visitors  !  "  There  was  never  anything  Hke 
it."  He  had  almost  accomplished  his  Abs 
before  he  was  thought  old  enough  for  school. 
At  an  earlier  age  than  usual,  however,  he  was 
sent ;  and  then  he  went  from  Jche  to  Abomination 
in  half  the  summers  and  winters  it  took  the  rest 
of  us  to  go  over  the  same  space.  Astonishing 
how  quickly  he  mastered  column  after  column, 
section  after  section,  of  obstJhate  orthographies. 
Those  martial  terms  I  have  just  used,  together 
with  our  hero's  celerity,  put  me  in  mind  of 
Csesar.  So  I  will  quote  him.  Memorus  might 
have  said  in  respect  to  the  host  of  the  spelling- 
book,  *■'■  I  came,  I  saw,  I  conquered."  He  gen- 
erally stood  at  the  head  of  a  class,  each  one  of 
whom  was  two  years  his  elder.  Poor  creatures  ! 
they  studied  hard,  some  of  them,  but  it  did  no 
good  :  Memorus  Wordwell  was  born  to  be  above 
them,  as  some  men  are  said  to  have  been  "  born 
to  command."  At  the  public  examination  of 
his  first  winter,  the  people  of  the  district,  and 
even  the  minister,  thought  it  marvelous  that 
such  monstrous  great  words  should  be  mastered 
by  "  such  a  leetle  mite  of  a  boy  !  "  Memorus 
was  mighty  also  in  saying  those  after  spelling 
matters  —  the  Key,  the  Abbreviations,  the  Punc- 
tuation, &c.     These    things   were    deemed    of 


As  It  Was  6 1 

great  account  to  be  laid  up  in  remembrance, 
although  they  were  all  very  imperfectly  under- 
stood, and  some  of  them  not  understood  at  all. 

Punctuation  —  how  many  hours,  days,  and 
even  weeks,  have  I  tugged  away  to  lift,  as  it 
were,  to  roll  up  into  the  store-house  of  my 
memory,  the  many  long,  heavy  sentences  com- 
prehended under  this  title  '  Only  survey  (we 
use  this  word  when  speaking  of  considerable 
space  and  bulk)  —  only  survey  the  first  sentence, 
a  transcript  of  which  I  will  endeavor  to  locate 
in  these  narrow  bounds.  I  would  have  my 
readers  of  the  rising  generation  know  what 
mighty  labors  we  little  creatures  of  five,  six,  and 
seven  years  old  were  set  to  perform :  — 

"  Punctuation  is  the  art  of  pointing,  or  of 
dividing  a  discourse  into  periods  by  points,  ex- 
pressing the  pauses  to  be  made  in  the  reading 
thereof,  and  regulating  the  cadence  or  elevation 
of  the  voice." 

There,  I  have  labored  weeks  on  that ;  for  I 
always  had  the  lamentable  defect  of  mind  not 
to  be  able  to  commit  to  memory  what  I  did  not 
understand.  My  teachers  never  aided  me  with 
the  least  explanation  of  the  above-copied  sen- 
tence, nor  of  other  reading  of  a  similar  character, 
which  was  likewise  to  be  committed  to  memory. 
But   this   and   all  was    nothing,  as    it  were,  to 


62  The  District  School 

Memorus  Wordwell.  He  was  a  very  Hercules 
in  this  wilderness  of  words. 

Master  Wordwell  was  a  remarkable  reader 
too.  He  could  rattle  off  a  word  as  extensive  as 
the  name  of  a  Russian  noble,  when  he  was  but 
five  years  old,  as  easily  as  the  schoolmaster  him- 
self. "  He  can  read  in  the  hardest  chapters  of 
the  Testament  as  fast  agin  as  I  can,"  said  his 
mother.  "  I  never  did  see  nothin  beat  it,"  ex- 
claimed his  father;  "he  speaks  up  as  loud  as  a 
minister."  But  I  have  said  enough  about  this 
prodigy.  I  have  said  thus  much,  because,  al- 
though he  was  thought  so  surpassingly  bright,  he 
was  the  most  decided  ninny  in  the  school.  The 
fact  is,  he  did  not  know  what  the  sounds  he 
uttered  meant.  It  never  entered  his  head,  nor 
the  heads  of  his  parents  and  most  of  his  teachers, 
that  words  and  sentences  were  written,  and 
should  be  read,  only  to  be  understood.  He  lost 
some  of  his  reputation,  however,  when  he  grew 
up  towards  twenty-one,  and  it  was  found  that 
numbers^  in  more  senses  than  one,  were  far  above 
him  in  arithmetic. 

One  little  anecdote  about  Memorus  Word- 
well  before  we  let  him  go,  and  this  long  chapter 
shall  be  no  longer. 

It  happened  one  day  that  the  "  cut  and  split " 
for  the  fire  fell  short,  and  Jonas  Patch  was  out 


As  It  Was  6;^ 

wielding  the  ax  in  school  time.  He  had  been 
at  work  about  half  an  hour,  when  Memorus, 
who  was  perceived  to  have  less  to  do  than  the 
rest,  was  sent  out  to  take  his  place.  He  was 
about  ten  years  old,  and  four  years  younger  than 
Jonas.  "  Memorus,  you  may  go  out  and  spell 
Jonas."  Our  hero  did  not  think  of  the  Yankee 
sense  in  which  the  master  used  the  word  spell  : 
indeed  he  had  never  attached  but  one  meaning 
to  it,  whenever  it  was  used  with  reference  to 
himself.  He  supposed  the  master  was  granting 
him  a  ride  extraordinary  on  his  favorite  hobby. 
So  he  put  his  spelling-book  under  his  arm,  and 
was  out  at  the  wood-pile  with  the  speed  of  a 
boy  rushing  to  play. 

"Ye  got  yer  spellin  lesson,  Jonas  ?  "  was  his 
first  salutation.  "  Haven't  looked  at  it  yit," 
was  the  reply.  "  I  mean  to  cut  up  this  plaguy 
great  log,  spellin  or  no  spellin,  before  I  go  in. 
I  had  as  lieve  keep  warm  here  choppin  wood,  as 
freeze  up  there  in  that  tarnal  cold  back  seat." 
"  Well,  the  master  sent  me  out  to  hear  you 
spell."  "  Did  he  ?  well,  put  out  the  words,  and 
I'll  spell."  Memorus  being  so  distinguished  a 
speller,  Jonas  did  not  doubt  but  that  he  was 
really  sent  out  on  this  errand.  So  our  deputy 
spelling-master  mounted  the  top  of  the  wood- 
pile, just  in  front  of  Jonas,  to  put  out  words  to 


64  The  District  School 

his  temporary  pupil,  who  still  kept  on  putting 
out  chips. 

"  Do  you  know  where  the  lesson  begins, 
Jonas  ?  "  "  No,  I  don't ;  but  I  'spose  I  shall 
find  out  now."  "Well,  here  'tis."  (They 
both  belonged  to  the  same  class.)  "  Spell 
A-bom-i-na-tion."  Jonas  spells.  A-b-o-m  bom 
a-bom  (in  the  mean  time  up  goes  the  ax  high 
in  air),  i  a-bom-i  (down  it  gges  again  chuck  into 
the  wood)  n-a  na  a-bom-i-na  ^up  it  goes  again) 
t-i-o-n  tion,  a-bom-i-na-tion ;  chuck  the  ax 
goes  again,  and  at  the  same  time  out  flies  a  furi- 
ous chip,  and  hits  Memorus  on  the  nose.  At 
this  moment  the  master  appeared  just  at  the 
corner  of  the  school-house,  with  one  foot  still 
on  the  threshold.  "Jonas,  why  don't  you  come 
in  ?  didn't  I  send  Memorus  out  to  spell  you  ?  " 
"  Yes,  sir,  and  he  has  been  spelling  me ;  how 
could  I  come  in  if  he  spelt  me  here  ?  "  At  this 
the  master's  eye  caught  Memorus  perched  up 
on  the  top-stick,  with  his  book  open  upon  his 
lap,  rubbing  his  nose,  and  just  in  the  act  of 
putting  out  the  next  word  of  the  column.  Ac- 
com-mo-da-tion,  pronounced  Memorus  in  a 
broken  but  louder  voice  than  before ;  for  he  had 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  master,  and  he  wished 
to  let  him  know  that  he  was  doing  his  duty. 
This  was  too  much   for   the   master's   gravity. 


As  It  Was  6^ 

He  perceived  the  mistake,  and,  without  saying 
more,  wheeled  back  into  the  school-room,  almost 
bursting  with  the  most  tumultuous  laughter  he 
ever  tried  to  suppress.  The  scholars  wondered 
at  his  looks,  and  grinned  in  sympathy.  But  in 
a  few  minutes  Jonas  came  in,  followed  by 
Memorus  with  his  spelling-book,  who  exclaimed, 
"  I  have  heard  him  spell  clean  through  the 
whole  lesson,  and  he  didn't  spell  hardly  none  of 
'em  right."  The  master  could  hold  in  no 
longer,  and  the  scholars  perceived  the  blunder, 
and  there  was  one  simultaneous  roar  from  peda- 
gogue and  pupils ;  the  scholars  laughing  twice 
as  loud  and  uproariously  in  consequence  of  being 
permitted  to  laugh  in  school  time,  and  to  do  it 
with  the  accompaniment  of  the  master. 

F 


66  The  District  School 


Chapter    XII 

Mr.  Spoutsound,  the  Speaking  Master  — 
the  Exhibition 

"VTOW  comes  winter  th«  sixth,  of  my  dis- 
•^  ^  trict  education.  Our  master  was  as  in- 
significant a  personage  as  is  often  met  with 
beyond  the  age  of  twenty-one.  He  ought  to 
have  been  pedagogue  in  that  land  of  littleness, 
Lilliput.  Our  great  fellows  of  the  back  seat 
might  have  tossed  him  out  of  the  window  from 
the  palm  of  the  hand.  But  he  possessed  cer- 
tain qualifications,  and  pursued  such  a  course 
that  he  was  permitted  to  retain  the  magisterial 
seat  through  his  term,  and  indeed  was  quite 
popular  on  the  whole. 

He  was  as  remarkable  for  the  loudness  and 
compass  of  his  voice,  as  for  the  diminutiveness 
of  his  material  dimensions.  How  such  a  body 
of  sound  could  proceed  from  so  bodiless  an  ex- 
istence, was  a  marvel.  It  seemed  as  unnatural 
as  that  a  tremendous  thunder-clap  should  burst 
from  a  speck  of  cloud  in  the  sky.      He  gener- 


As  It  Was  67 

ally  sat  with  the  singers  on  the  Sabbath,  and 
drowned  the  feebler  voices  with  the  inundation 
of  his  bass. 

But  it  was  not  with  his  tuneful  powers  alone, 
that  he  "astonished  the  natives."  He  was 
imagined  to  possess  great  gifts  of  oratory  like- 
wise. "  What  a  pity  it  is  that  he  had  not  been 
a  minister !  "  was  said.  It  was  by  his  endow- 
ments and  taste  in  this  respect  that  he  made 
himself  particularly  memorable  in  our  school. 
Mr.  Spoutsound  had  been  one  quarter,  to  an 
academy  where  declamation  was  a  weekly  exer- 
cise. Finding  in  this,  ample  scope  for  his  vocal 
extraordinariness  (a  long-winded  word,  to  be 
sure,  but  so  appropriate),  he  became  an  enthusi- 
astic votary  to  the  Ciceronian  art.  The  princi- 
pal qualification  of  an  orator  in  his  view,  was 
height,  depth,  and  breadth  of  utterance,  —  quan- 
tity of  sound.  Of  course,  he  fancied  himself  a 
very  lion  in  oratory.  Indeed,  as  far  as  roaring 
would  go,  he  was  a  lion.  This  gentleman  in- 
troduced declamation,  or  the  speaking  of  pieces, 
as  it  was  called,  into  our  school.  He  considered 
"  speaking  of  the  utmost  consequence  in  this 
country,  as  any  boy  might  be  called  to  a  seat 
in  the  legislature,  perhaps,  in  the  course  of 
things."  It  was  a  novelty  to  the  scholars,  and 
they   entered   with   their   whole   souls   into   the 


68  The  District  School 

matter.     It  was  a  pleasant  relief  to  the  dullness 
of  the  old-fashioned  routine. 

What  a  rummaging  of  books,  pamphlets,  and 
newspapers  now  took  place,  to  find  pieces  to 
speak  !  The  American  Preceptor,  the  Colum- 
bian Orator,  the  Art  of  Reading,  Scott's  Elocu- 
tion, Webster's  Third  Part,  and  I  know  not 
how  many  other  ancients,  were  taken  down 
from  their  dusty  retirement  at  home,  for  the  sake 
of  the  specimens  of  eloquence  they  afforded. 
Those  pieces  were  deemed  best  by  us  grandsons 
of  the  Revolutionists,  which  most  abounded  in 
those  glorious  words.  Freedom,  Liberty,  Inde- 
pendence, and  other  spirit-kindling  names  and 
phrases,  that  might  be  mentioned.  Another 
recommendation  was  high-flown  language,  and 
especially  words  that  were  long  and  sonorous, 
such  as  would  roll  thunderingly  from  the  tongue. 
For,  like  our  district  professor,  we  had  the  im- 
pression that  noise  was  the  most  important 
quality  in  eloquence.  The  first,  the  second, 
and  the  third  requisite  was  the  same;  it  was 
noise,  noise,  noise.  Action,  however,  or  gesticu- 
lation, was  not  omitted.  This  was  considered 
the  next  qualification  of  a  good  orator.  So 
there  was  the  most  vehement  swinging  of  arms, 
shaking  of  fists,  and  waving  of  palms.  That 
occasional    motion   of  the   limb    and    force  of 


As  It  Was  69 

voice,  called  emphasis,  was  not  a  characteristic 
of  our  eloquence,  or  rather  it  was  all  emphasis. 
Our  utterance  was  something  like  the  continu- 
ous roar  of  a  swollen  brook  over  a  mill-dam, 
and  our  action  like  the  unintermitted  whirling 
and  clapping  of  adjacent  machinery.  ■ 

We  tried  our  talent  in  the  dramatic  way  like- 
wise. There  were  numerous  extracts  from 
dramatic  compositions  scattered  through  the 
various  reading-books  we  had  mustered.  These 
dialogistic  performances  were  even  more  inter- 
esting than  our  speechifying  in  the  semblance 
of  lawyers  and  legislators.  We  more  easily 
acquired  an  aptitude  for  this  exercise,  as  it  was 
somewhat  like  that  every-day  affair,  conversa- 
tion. In  this  we  were  brought  face  to  face, 
voice  to  voice,  with  each  other,  and  our  social 
sympathies  were  kindled  into  glow.  We  talked 
with,  as  well  as  at,  folks.  Then  the  female 
portion  of  the  school  could  take  a  part  in  the 
performance ;  and  who  does  not  know  that  dia- 
loguing, as  well  as  dancing,  has  twice  the  zest 
with  a  female  partner  ?  The  whole  school,  with 
the  exception  of  the  very  least  perhaps,  were 
engaged,  indeed  absorbed,  in  this  novel  branch 
of  education  introduced  by  Mr.  Spoutsound. 
Some,  who  had  not  got  out  of  their  Abs,  were 
taught,    by    admiring    fathers    and    mothers    at 


yo  The  District  School 

home,  little  pieces  by  rote,  and  made  to  screech 
them  out  with  most  ear-splitting  execution. 
One  lad  in  this  way  committed  to  memory  that 
famous  piece  of  self-pufFery  beginning  with  the 
lines,  — 

**  You'd  scarce  expect  one  of  my  age 
To  speak  in  public  on  the  stage." 

Memorus  Wordwell  committed  to  memory 
and  parroted  forth  that  famow  speech  of  Pitt, 
in  which  he  so  eloquently  replies  to  the  charge 
of  being  a  young  man. 

Cicero  at  Athens  was  not  more  assiduous  in 
seeking  the  "immense  and  the  infinite"  in  elo- 
quence, than  we  were  in  seeking  the  great  in 
speaking.  Besides  half  an  hour  of  daily  school 
time  set  apart  for  the  exercise,  under  the  imme- 
diate direction  and  exemplification  of  the  master, 
our  noonings  were  devoted  to  the  same,  as  far 
as  the  young's  ruling  passion,  the  love  of  play, 
would  permit.  And  on  the  way  to  and  from 
school,  the  pleasure  of  dialogue  would  compete 
with  that  of  dousing  each  other  into  the  snow. 
We  even  "  spoke "  while  doing  our  night  and 
morning  work  at  home.  A  boy  might  be  seen 
at  the  wood-pile  hacking  at  a  log  and  a  dialogue 
by  turns.  Or  perhaps,  after  dispensing  the 
fodder  to  the   tenants  of  the   barn,  he  would 


As  It  Was  71 

mount  a  half-cleared  scaffold,  and  out-bellow 
the  wondering  beeves  below. 

As  the  school  drew  towards  a  close,  Mr. 
Spoutsound  proposed  to  have  an  exhibition  in 
addition  to  the  usual  examination,  on  the  last 
day,  or  rather  the  evening  of  it.  Our  oratorical 
gifts  and  accomplishments  must  be  pubHcly  dis- 
played ;  which  is  next  to  publicly  using  them 
in  the  important  affairs  of  the  town,  the  State, 
or  the  country. 

"  An  exhibition  !  —  I  want  to  know  !  can  it 
be  ?  "  There  had  never  been  anything  like  it 
in  the  district  before,  nor  indeed  in  the  town. 
Such  a  thing  had  scarcely  been  heard  of,  except 
by  some  one  whose  uncle  or  cousin  had  been 
to  the  academy  or  to  college.  The  people  of 
the  district  were  wide  awake.  The  younger 
portion  of  them  could  hardly  sleep  nights. 

The  scholars  are  requested  to  select  the  pieces 
they  would  prefer  to  speak,  whether  speeches 
or  dialogues ;  and  to  arrange  among  themselves 
who  should  be  fellow-partners  in  the  dramatical 
performances.  The  master,  however,  retained 
the  right  of  veto  on  their  choice.  Now,  what 
a  rustle  of  leaves  and  flutter  of  lips  in  school- 
hours,  and  noisier  flapping  of  books  and  clatter 
of  tongues  at  noon,  in  settling  who  shall  have 
which,  and  who  speak  with  whom.     At  length 


72  The  District  School 

all  is  arranged,  and  mostly  to  the  minds  of  all. 
Then,  for  a  week  or  two  before  the  final  con- 
summation of  things  eloquent,  it  was  nothing 
but  rehearsal.  No  pains  were  spared  by  any 
one  that  he  might  be  perfect  in  the  recollection 
and  flourishing-ofF  of  his  part.  Dialoguists  were 
grouped  together  in  every  corner.  There  was 
a  buzz  in  the  back  seat,  a  hum  in  the  closet,  a 
screech  in  the  entry,  and  the  very  climax  of 
vociferation  in  the  spelling-floor.  Here  the 
solos  (if  I  may  borrow  a  term  from  music)  were 
rehearsed  under  the  immediate  criticism  of  Mr. 
Spoutsound,  whose  chief  delight  was  in  forensic 
and  parliamentary  eloquence.  The  old  school- 
house  was  a  little  Babel  in  the  confusion  of 
tongues. 

The  expected  day  at  length  arrives.  There 
must  be,  of  course,  the  usual  examination  in  the 
afternoon.  But  nobody  attended  this  but  the 
minister,  and  the  committee  who  engaged 
the  master.  tThe  people  of  the  district  all  in- 
tended to  be  at  the  exhibition  in  the  evening, 
and  examination  was  "just  nothing  at  all  "  with 
that  in  prospect.  And,  in  fact,  it  was  just  noth- 
ing at  all ;  for  the  "  ruling  passion  "  had  swal- 
lowed up  very  much  of  the  time  that  should 
have  been  devoted  to  the  really  important 
branches  of  educationTl 


'^ 


As  It  Was  73 

After  the  finishing  of  the  school,  a  stage  was 
erected  at  the  end  of  the  spelling-floor,  next  to 
the  desk  and  the  closet.  It  was  hung  round 
with  checked  bed-blankets,  in  the  semblance  of 
theatrical  curtains,  to  conceal  any  preparations 
that  might  be  necessary  between  the  pieces. 

The  exhibition  was  to  commence  at  half  past 
six.  Before  that  time,  the  old  school-house  was 
crowded  to  the  utmost  of  its  capacity  for  con- 
taining, by  the  people  not  only  of  our  district, 
but  of  other  parts  of  the  town.  The  children 
were  wedged  into  chinks  too  narrow  for  the 
admission  of  the  grown-up.  Never  were  a 
multitude  of  living  bodies  more  completely 
compressed  and  amalgamated  into  one  continu- 
ous mass. 

On  the  front  writing-bench,  just  before  the 
stage,  and  facing  the  audience,  sat  the  four  first, 
and  some  of  the  most  interesting  performers  on 
the  occasion,  viz.,  players  on  the  clarionet, 
violin,  bass-viol,  and  bassoon.  But  they  of  the 
bow  were  sorely  troubled  at  first.  Time  and 
space  go  together  with  them,  you  know.  They 
cannot  keep  the  first  without  possessing  the  lat- 
ter. As  they  sat,  their  semibreves  were  all 
shortened  into  minims,  indeed  into  crotchets, 
for  lack  of  elbow-room.  At  length  the  violin- 
ist   stood    up    straight    on    the    writing-bench, 


74  The  District  School 

so  as  to  have  an  unimpeded  stretch  in  the 
empty  air,  above  the  thicket  of  heads.  His 
fellow-sufFerer  then  contrived  to  stand  so  that 
his  long  bow  could  sweep  freely  between  the 
steady  heads  of  two  broad-shouldered  men,  out 
of  danger  from  joggling  boys.  This  band  dis- 
coursed what  was  to  our  ears  most  eloquent 
music,  as  a  prelude  to  the  musical  eloquence 
which  was  to  be  the  chief  entertainment  of  the 
occasion.  They  played  intermediately  also,  and 
gave  the  winding-ofF  flourish  of  sound. 

At  forty  minutes  past  six,  the  curtain  rose; 
that  is,  the  bed-blankets  were  pulled  aside. 
There  stood  Mr.  Spoutsound  on  the  stage,  in 
all  the  pomp  possible  to  diminutiveness.  He 
advanced  two  steps,  and  bowed  as  profoundly 
from  height  to  depth  as  his  brevity  of  stature 
would  admit.  He  then  opened  the  exhibition 
by  speaking  a  poetical  piece  called  a  Prologue, 
which  he  found  in  one  of  the  old  reading-books. 
As  this  was  originally  composed  as  an  intro- 
duction to  a  stage  performance,  it  was  thought 
appropriate  on  this  occasion.  Mr.  Spoutsound 
now  put  forth  in  all  the  plenitude  of  his  utter- 
ance. It  seemed  a  vocal  cataract,  all  torrent, 
thunder,  and  froth.  But  it  wanted  room,  —  an 
abyss  to  empty  into;  and  all  it  had  was  the 
remnant  of  space  left  in  our  little  school-room. 


As  It  Was  75 

A  few  of  the  audience  were  overwhelmed  with 
the  pour  and  rush  and  roar  of  the  pent-up  noise, 
and  the  rest  with  admiration,  yea,  astonishment, 
that  the  schoolmaster  "  could  speak  so" 

He  ceased  —  it  was  all  as  still  as  if  every 
other  voice  had  died  of  envy.  He  bowed  — 
there  was  then  a  general  breathing,  as  if  the 
vocals  were  just  coming  to  life  again.  He  sat 
down  on  a  chair  placed  on  the  stage ;  then  there 
was  one  general  buzz,  above  which  arose,  here 
and  there,  a  living  and  loud  voice.  Above  this, 
soon  arose  the  exaltation  of  the  orator's  favorite 
march ;  for  he  deemed  it  proper  that  his  own 
performance  should  be  separated  from  those  of 
his  pupils  by  some  length  and  loftiness  of 
music. 

Now  the  exhibition  commenced  in  good  ear- 
nest. The  dramatists  dressed  in  costumes  ac- 
cording to  the  character  to  be  sustained,  as  far 
as  all  the  old  and  odd  dresses  that  could  be  mus- 
tered up  would  enable  them  to  do  so.  The  dis- 
trict, and  indeed  the  town,  had  been  ransacked 
for  revolutionary  coats  and  cocked-up  hats  and 
other  grand-fatherly  and  grand-motherly  attire. 

The  people  present  were  quite  as  much 
amused  with  the  spectacle  as  with  the  speaking. 
To  see  the  old  fashions  on  the  young  folks,  and 
to  see  the  young  folks  personating  characters  so 


76  The  District  School 

entirely  opposite  to  their  own  ;  for  instance,  the 
slim,  pale-faced  youth,  by  the  aid  of  stuffing, 
looking,  and  acting  the  fat  old  wine-bibber ;  the 
blooming  girl  of  seventeen,  putting  on  the  cap, 
the  kerchief,  and  the  character  of  seventy-five, 
&c.,  —  all  this  was  ludicrously  strange.  A  very 
refined  taste  might  have  observed  other  things 
that  were  strangely  ludicrous  in  the  elocution 
and  gesticulation  of  these  disciples  of  Mr.  Spout- 
sound  ;  but  most  of  the  company  present  were 
so  fortunate  as  to  perceive  no  bad  taste  to  mar 
their  enjoyment. 

The  little  boy  of  five  spoke  the  little  piece  — 

**  You'd  scarce  expect  one  of  my  age,"  &c. 

I  recollect  another  line  of  the  piece  which  has 
become  singularly  verified  in  the  history  of  the 
lad.     It  is  this  — 

**Tall  oaks  from  litde  acorns  grow." 

Now,  this  acorn  of  eloquence,  which  sprouted 
forth  so  vigorously  on  this  occasion,  has  at 
length  grown  into  a  mighty  oak  of  oratory  on 
his  native  hills.  He  has  flourished  in  a  Fourth 
of  July  oration  before  his  fellow-townsmen. 

Memorus  Wordwell,  who  at  this  time  was 
eleven  years  old,  yelped  forth  the  aforementioned 
speech  of   Pitt.     In    the  part    replying  to  the 


As  It  Was  77 

taunt  that  the  author  of  the  speech  was  a  young 
man,  Memorus  "  beat  all."  Next  to  the  mas- 
ter himself,  he  excited  the  greatest  admiration, 
and  particularly  in  his  father  and  mother. 

But  this  chapter  must  be  ended,  so  we  will 
skip  to  the  end  of  this  famous  exhibition.  At 
a  quarter  past  ten,  the  curtain  dropped  for  the 
last  time;  that  is,  the  bed-blankets  were  pulled 
down  and  put  into  the  sleighs  of  their  owners, 
to  be  carried  home  to  be  spread  over  the 
dreamers  of  acts,  instead  of  being  hung  before 
the  actors  of  dreams.  The  little  boys  and  girls 
did  not  get  to  bed  till  eleven  o'clock  that  night, 
nor  all  of  them  to  sleep  till  twelve.  They  were 
never  more  the  pupils  of  Mr.  Spoutsound.  He 
soon  migrated  to  one  of  the  States  beyond  the 
Alleghany.  There  he  studied  law  not  more 
than  a  year  certainly,  and  was  admitted  to  the 
Bar.  It  is  rumored  that  he  soon  spoke  himself 
into  the  legislature,  and  as  soon  spoke  himself 
out  again.  Whether  he  will  speak  himself  into 
Congress  is  a  matter  of  exceeding  doubt.  I 
have  nothing  more  to  add  respecting  the  speak- 
ing master,  or  the  speaking,  excepting  that  one 
shrewd  old  man  was  heard  to  say  on  leaving  the 
school-house,  exhibition  night,  "A  great  cry,  but 
little  wool." 


78  The  District  School 


Chapter  XIII 
Learning  to  write 

THE  winter  I  was  nine  years  old,  I  made 
another  advance  toward  the  top  of  the 
ladder,  in  the  circumstance  of i^earning  to  write. 
I  desired  and  pleaded  to  commence  the  chiro- 
graphical  art  the  summer,  and  indeed  the  winter 
before ;  for  others  of  my  own  age  were  at  it 
thus  early.  But  my  father  said  that  my  fingers 
were  hardly  stout  enough  to  manage  a  quill 
from  his  geese  ;  but  that,  if  I  would  put  up 
with  the  quill  of  a  hen,  I  might  try.  This 
pithy  satire  put  an   end  to  my  teasing. 

Having  previously  had  the  promise  of  writing 
this  winter,  I  had  made  all  the  necessary  prepa- 
rations, days  before  school  was  to  begin.  I  had 
bought  me  a  new  birch  ruler,  and  had  given  a 
third  of  my  wealth,  four  cents,  for  it.  To  this 
I  had  appended,  by  a  well-twisted  flaxen  string, 
a  plummet  of  my  own  running,  whittling,  and 
scraping.  I  had  hunted  up  an  old  pewter  ink- 
stand, which  had  come  down  from  the  ancestral 
eminence  of  my  great  grandfather,  for  aught  I 


As  It  Was  79 

know ;  and  it  bore  many  marks  of  a  speedier 
and  less  honorable  descent,  to  wit,  from  table  or 
desk  to  the  floor.  I  had  succeeded  in  becoming 
the  owner  of  a  penknife,  not  that  it  was  likely 
to  be  applied  to  its  appropriate  use  that  winter 
at  least ;  for  such  beginners  generally  used  the 
instrument  to  mar  that  kind  of  pens  they  wrote 
in,  rather  than  to  make  or  mend  those  they  wrote 
with.  I  had  selected  one  of  the  fairest  quills 
out  of  an  enormous  bunch.  Half  a  quire  of 
foolscap  had  been  folded  into  the  shape  of  a 
writing-book  by  the  maternal  hand,  and  covered 
with  brown  paper,  nearly  as  thick  as  a  sheep- 
skin. 

Behold  me  now,  on  the  first  Monday  in 
December,  starting  for  school,  with  my  new 
and  clean  writing-book  buttoned  under  my 
jacket,  my  inkstand  in  my  pocket,  a  bundle 
of  necessary  books  in  one  hand,  and  my  ruler 
and  swinging  plummet  in  the  other,  which  I 
flourished  in  the  air  and  around  my  head,  till 
the  sharpened  lead  made  its  first  mark  on  my 
own  face.  My  long  white-feathered  goose- 
quill  was  twisted  into  my  hat-band,  like  a 
plumy  badge  of  the  distinction  to  which  I  had 
arrived,  and  the  important  enterprise  before  me. 

On  arriving  at  the  school-house,  I  took  a 
seat    higher  up  and   more   honorable  than  the 


8o  The  District  School 

one  I  occupied  the  winter  before.  At  the 
proper  time,  my  writing-book,  which,  with  my 
quill,  I  had  handed  to  the  master  on  entering, 
was  returned  to  me,  with  a  copy  set,  and  paper 
ruled  and  pen  made.  My  copy  was  a  single 
straight  mark,  at  the  first  corner  of  my  manu- 
script. "  A  straight  mark !  who  could  not 
make  so  simple  a  thing  as  that  ?  "  thought  I. 
I  waited,  however,  to  see  how  the  boy  next  to 
me,  a  beginner  also,  should  s«cceed,  as  he  had 
got  ready  a  moment  before  me.  Never  shall 
I  forget  the  first  chirographical  exploit  of  this 
youth.  That  inky  image  will  never  be  eradi- 
cated from  my  memory,  so  long  as  a  single 
trace  of  early  experience  is  left  on  its  tablet. 
The  fact  is,  it  was  an  epoch  in  my  life :  some- 
thing great  was  to  be  done,  and  my  attention 
was  intensely  awake  to  whatever  had  a  bearing 
on  this  new  and  important  trial  of  my  powers. 
I  looked  to  see  a  mark  as  straight  as  a  ruler, 
having  its  four  corners  as  distinctly  defined  as 
the  angles  of  a  parallelogram. 

But,  O  me !  what  a  spectacle !  What  a 
shocking  contrast  to  my  anticipation !  That 
mark  had  as  many  crooks  as  a  ribbon  in  the 
wind,  and  nearer  eight  angles  than  four;  and 
its  two  sides  were  nearly  as  rough  and  as 
notched   as  a  fine  handsaw ;    and,  indeed,  the 


As  It  Was  8 1 

mark  somewhat  resembled  it  in  width,  for  the 
fellow  had  laid  in  a  store  of  ink  sufficient  to 
last  the  journey  of  the  whole  line.  "  Shame 
on  him  !  "  said  I,  internally,  "  I  can  beat  that, 
I  know."  I  began  by  setting  my  pen  firmly 
on  the  paper,  and  I  brought  a  mark  half  way 
down  with  rectilinear  precision.  But  by  this 
time  my  head  began  to  swim,  and  my  hand 
to  tremble.  I  was  as  it  were  in  vacancy,  far 
below  the  upper  ruling,  and  as  far  above  the 
lower.  My  self-possession  failed ;  my  pen 
diverged  to  the  right,  then  to  the  left,  crook- 
ing all  the  remainder  of  its  way,  with  as  many 
zig-zags  as  could  well  be  in  so  short  a  distance.  / 
Mine  was  as  sad  a  failure  as  my  neighbor's.  I 
covered  it  over  with  my  fingers,  and  did  not  jog 
him  with  a  "  see  there,"  as  I  had  vainly  antici- 
pated. 

So  much  for  painstaking,  now  for  chance. 
By  good  luck  the  next  effort  was  quite  success- 
ful. I  now  dashed  on,  for  better  or  worse,  till 
in  one  half-hour  I  had  covered  the  whole  page 
with  the  standing,  though  seemingly  falling, 
monuments  of  the  chirographical  wisdom  of 
my  teacher,  and  skill  of  myself.  In  the  after- 
noon a  similar  copy  was  set,  and  I  dashed  on 
again  as  if  I  had  taken  so  much  writing  by  the 
job,  and  my  only  object  was  to  save  time.     Now 

G 


82  The  District  School 

and  then  there  was  quite  a  reputable  mark ;  but 
alas  —  for  him  whose  perception  of  the  beauti- 
ful was  particularly  delicate,  should  he  get  a 
glimpse  of  these  sloughs  of  ink ! 

The  third  morning,  my  copy  was  the  first 
element  of  the  m  and  w,  or  what  in  burlesque 
is  called  a  hook.  On  my  fourth,  I  had  the  last 
half  of  the  same  letters,  or  the  trammel. 

In  this  way  I  went  through  all  the  small  let- 
ters, as  they  are  called.  Fiijt,  the  elements  or 
constituent  parts,  then  the  whole  character  in 
which  these  parts  were  combined. 

Then  I  must  learn  to  make  the  capitals,  be- 
fore entering  on  joining  hand.  Four  pages 
were  devoted  to  these.  Capital  letters !  They 
were  capital  offences  against  all  that  is  graceful, 
indeed  decent,  yea  tolerable,  in  that  art  which 
is  so  capable  of  beautiful  forms  and  proportions. 

I  came  next  to  joining  hand,  about  three 
weeks  after  my  commencement ;  and  joining 
hand  indeed  it  was !  It  seemed  as  if  my  hooks 
and  trammels  were  overheated  in  the  forge, 
and  were  melted  into  each  other;  the  shapeless 
masses  so  clung  together  at  points  where  they 
ought  to  have  been  separate,  so  very  far  were 
they  from  all  resemblance  to  conjoined,  yet  dis- 
tinct and  well-defined  characters. 

Thus  I  went  on,  a  perfect  little  prodigal  in 


As  It  Was  83 

the  expenditure  of  paper,  ink,  pens,  and  time. 
The  first  winter,  I  splashed  two,  and  the  next, 
three  writing-books  with  inky  puddle,  in  learn- 
ing coarse  hand  ;  and,  after  all,  I  had  gained  not 
much  in  penmanship,  except  a  workmanlike 
assurance  and  celerity  of  execution,  such  as  is 
natural  to  an  old  hand  at  the  business. 

The  third  winter,  I  commenced  small  hand, 
or  rather  fine,  as  it  is  more  technically  denomi- 
nated ;  or  rather  a  copy  of  half-way  dimensions, 
that  the  change  to  fine  running-hand  might  not 
be  too  sudden.  From  this  dwarfish  course,  or 
giant  fine  hand,  —  just  as  you  please  to  call 
it,  —  I  slid  down  to  the  genuine  epistolary  and 
mercantile,  with  a  capital  at  the  head  of  the 
line,  as  much  out  of  proportion  as  a  corpulent 
old  captain  marching  in  single  file  before  a 
parade  of  little  boys. 

Some  of  our  teachers  were  accustomed  to 
spend  a  few  minutes,  forenoon  and  afternoon,  in 
going  round  among  the  writers  to  see  that  they 
held  the  pen  properly,  and  took  a  decent  degree 
of  pains.  But  the  majority  of  them,  according  to 
present  recollections,  never  stirred  from  the  desk 
to  superintend  this  branch.  There  was  some- 
thing like  an  excuse,  however,  for  not  visiting 
their  pupils  while  at  the  pen.  Sitting  as  they 
did    in  those  long,   narrow,   rickety  seats,  one 


84  The  District  School 

could  hardly  be  got  at  without  joggling  two  or 
three  others,  displacing  a  writing-book,  knock- 
ing over  an  inkstand,  and  making  a  deal  of 
rustle,  rattle,  and  racket. 

Some  of  the  teachers  set  the  copies  at  home 
in  the  evening,  but  most  set  them  in  school. 
Six  hours  per  day  were  all  that  custom  required 
of  a  teacher  :  of  course,  half  an  hour  at  home 
spent  in  the  matters  of  the  school  would  have 
been  time  and  labor  not  paid^or,  and  a  gratuity 
not  particularly  expected.  On  entering  in  the 
morning,  and  looking  for  the  master  as  the 
object  at  which  to  make  the  customary  "  man- 
ners," we  could  perceive  just  the  crown  of  his 
head  beyond  a  huge  stack  of  manuscripts,  which, 
together  with  his  copy-setting  attention,  pre- 
vented the  bowed  and  courtesied  respects  from 
his  notice.  A  few  of  the  most  advanced  in 
penmanship  had  copper-plate  slips,  as  they  were 
called,  tucked  into  their  manuscripts,  for  the 
trial  of  their  more  skillful  hands  ;  or,  if  an  or- 
dinary learner  had  for  once  done  extraordinarily 
well,  he  was  permitted  a  slip  as  a  mark  of  merit, 
and  a  circumstance  of  encouragement.  Some- 
times, when  the  master  was  pressed  for  time,  all 
the  joining-banders  were  thus  furnished.  It 
was  a  pleasure  to  have  copies  of  this  sort ; 
their  polished  shades,  graceful  curves,  and  deli- 


As  It  Was  85 

cate  hair  lines,  were  so  like  a  picture  for  the 
eye  to  dwell  upon.  But,  when  we  set  about 
the  work  of  imitation,  discouragement  took  the 
place  of  pleasure.  "  After  all,  give  us  the 
master's  hand,"  we  thought ;  "  we  can  come 
up  to  that  now  and  then."  We  despaired  of 
ever  becoming  decent  penmen  with  this  copper- 
plate perfection  mocking  our  clumsy  fingers. 

There  was  one  item  in  penmanship  which 
our  teachers  generally  omitted  altogether.  It 
was  the  art  of  making  and  mending  pens.  I 
suffer,  and  others  on  my  account  suffer,  from 
this  neglect  even  at  this  day.  The  untraceable 
"  partridge  tracks,"  as  some  one  called  them, 
with  which  I  perplex  my  correspondents,  and 
am  now  about  to  provoke  the  printer,  are 
chargeable  to  my  ignorance  in  pen-making.  It 
is  a  fact,  however  some  acquaintances  may 
doubt  it,  that  I  generally  write  very  legibly,  if 
not  gracefully,  whenever  I  borrow,  beg,  or 
steal  a  pen. 

Let  not  the  faithful  WrifFord,  should  his  eye 
chance  to  fall  on  this  lament,  think  that  I  have 
forgotten  his  twelve  lessons,  of  one  hour  each, 
on  twelve  successive,  cold  November  days, 
when  I  was  just  on  the  eve  of  commencing 
pedagogue  for  the  first  time  —  (for  I,  too,  have 
kept  a  district  school,  in  a  manner   somewhat 


86  The  District  School 

like  "  as  it  was  ")  —  I  have  not  forgotten  them. 
He  did  well  for  me.  But,  alas  !  his  tall  form 
bent  over  my  shoulder,  his  long  flexile  finger 
adjusted  my  pen,  and  his  vigilant  eye  glanced 
his  admonitions,  in  vain.  That  thirteenth 
lesson  which  he  added  gratis,  to  teach  us 
pen-making,  I  was  so  unfortunate  as  to  lose. 
Lamentable  to  me  and  to  many  others,  that  I 
was  kept  away. 

I  blush  while  I  acknowledge  it,  but  I  have 
taught  school,  have  taught  penmanship,  have 
made  and  mended  a  hundred  pens  a  day,  and 
all  the  time  I  knew  not  much  more  of  the  art 
of  turning  quill  into  pen,  than  did  the  goose 
from  whose  wing  it  was  plucked.  But  my 
manufactures  were  received  by  my  pupils,  as 
good.  Good,  of  course,  they  must  be  ;  for  the 
master  made  them,  and  who  should  dare  to 
question  his  competency  ?  If  the  instrument 
did  not  operate  well,  the  fault  must  certainly 
be  in  the  fingers  that  wielded,  not  those  that 
wrought  it. 


As  It  Was  87 


Chapter    XIV 

Seventh  Winter,  but  not  Much  about  it 
—  Eighth  Winter  —  Mr.  Johnson  — 
Good  Order,  and  but  Little  Punish- 
ing—  a  Story  about  Punishing  — 
Ninth  Winter 

/^F  my  seventh  winter  I  have  but  little  to 
^^  say  ;  for  but  little  was  done  worthy  of 
record  here.  We  had  an  indolent  master  and 
an  idle  school.  Some  tried  to  kindle  up  the 
speaking  spirit  again ;  but  the  teacher  had  no 
taste  that  way.  But  there  was  dialoguing 
enough  nevertheless  —  in  that  form  called  whis- 
pering. Our  school  was  a  theater  in  earnest ; 
for  "  plays  "  were  going  on  all  the  time.  It 
was  ''  acting "  to  the  life,  acting  anyhow 
rather  than  like  scholars  at  their  books.  But 
let  that  winter  and  its  works,  or  rather  want  of 
works,  pass.  Of  the  eighth  I  can  say  some- 
thing worth  notice,  I  think. 

In  consequence  of  the  lax  discipline  of  the 
two  last  winters,  the  school  had  fallen  into  very 
idle    and    turbulent   habits.      "A    master  that 


The  District  School 


will  keep  order,  a  master  that  will  keep  order!" 
was  the  cry  throughout  the  district.  Accord- 
ingly such  a  one  was  sought,  and  fortunately 
found.  A  certain  Mr.  Johnson,  who  had 
taught  in  a  neighboring  town,  was  famous  for 
his  strictness,  and  that  without  much  punishing. 
He  was  obtained  at  a  little  higher  price  than 
usual,  and  was  thought  to  be  well  worth  the 
price.  I  will  describe  his  person,  and  relate  an 
incident  as  characteristic  of  thf  man. 

Mr.  Johnson  was  full  six  feet  high,  with  the 
diameter  of  his  chest  and  limbs  in  equal  propor- 
tion. His  face  was  long,  and  as  dusky  as  a 
Spaniard's ;  and  the  dark  was  still  darkened  by 
the  roots  of  an  enormous  beard.  His  eyes  were 
black,  and  looked  floggings  and  blood  from  out 
their  cavernous  sockets,  which  were  overhung 
by  eyebrows  not  unlike  brush-heaps.  His  hair 
was  black  and  curly,  and  extended  down,  and 
expanded  on  each  side  of  his  face  in  a  pair  of 
whiskers  a  freebooter  might  have  envied. 

He  possessed  the  longest,  widest,  and  thickest 
ruler  I  ever  saw.  This  was  seldom  brandished 
in  his  hand,  but  generally  lay  in  sight  upon  the 
desk.  Although  he  was  so  famous  for  his  orders 
in  school,  he  scarcely  ever  had  to  use  his  puni- 
tive instrument.  His  look,  bearing,  and  voice 
were  enough  for  the  subjection  of  the  most  riot- 


As  It  Was  89 

ous  school.  Never  was  our  school  so  still  and 
so  studious  as  this  winter.  A  circumstance  oc- 
curred the  very  first  day,  which  drove  every- 
thing like  mischief  in  consternation  from  every 
scholar's  heart.  Abijah  Wilkins  had  for  years 
been  called  the  worst  boy  in  school.  Masters 
could  do  nothing  with  him.  He  was  surly,  saucy, 
profane,  and  truthless.  Mr.  Patch  took  him  from 
an  alms-house  when  he  was  eight  years  old, 
which  was  eight  years  before  the  point  of  time 
now  in  view.  In  his  family  were  mended 
neither  his  disposition,  his  manners,  nor  even 
his  clothes.  He  looked  like  a  morose,  unpitied 
pauper  still.  He  had  shaken  his  knurly  and 
filthy  fist  in  the  very  face  and  eyes  of  the  last 
winter's  teacher.  Mr.  Johnson  was  told  of  this 
son  of  perdition  before  he  began,  and  was  pre- 
pared to  take  some  efficient  step  at  his  first 
offence. 

Well,  the  afternoon  of  the  first  day,  Abijah 
thrust  a  pin  into  a  boy  beside  him,  which  made 
him  suddenly  cry  out  with  the  sharp  pain.  The 
sufferer  was  questioned  ;  Abijah  was  accused, 
and  found  guilty.  The  master  requested  James 
Clark  to  go  to  his  room,  and  bring  a  rattan  he 
would  find  there,  as  if  the  formidable  ferule  was 
unequal  to  the  present  exigency.  James  came 
with  a  rattan  very  long  and  very  elastic,  as  if  it 


90  The  District  School 

had  been  selected  from  a  thousand,  not  to  walk 
with,  but  to  whip.  Then  he  ordered  all  the 
blinds  next  to  the  road  to  be  closed.  He  then 
said,  "  Abijah,  come  this  way."  He  came. 
"  The  school  may  shut  their  books,  and  suspend 
their  studies  a  few  minutes.  Abijah,  take  oft' 
your  frock,  fold  it  up,  lay  it  on  the  seat  behind 
you."  Abijah  obeyed  these  several  commands 
with  sullen  tardiness.  Here,  a  boy  up  towards 
the  back  seat  burst  out  with  a%ort  of  shuddering 
laugh,  produced  by  a  nervous  excitement  he 
could  not  control.  "  Silence  !  "  said  the  master, 
with  a  thunder,  and  a  stamp  on  the  floor  that 
made  the  house  quake.  All  was  as  still  as  mid- 
night—  not  a  foot  moved,  not  a  seat  cracked, 
not  a  book  rustled.  The  school  seemed  to  be 
appalled.  The  expression  of  every  countenance 
was  changed ;  some  were  unnaturally  pale,  some 
flushed,  and  eighty  distended  and  moistened  eyes 
were  fastened  on  the  scene.  The  awful  expec- 
tation was  too  much  for  one  poor  girl.  "  May 
I  go  home  ?"  she  whined  with  an  imploring  and 
terrified  look.  A  single  glance  from  the  coun- 
tenance of  authority  crushed  the  trembler  down 
into  her  seat  again.  A  tremulous  sigh  escaped 
from  one  of  the  larger  girls,  then  all  was  breath- 
lessly still  again.  "Take  off"  your  jacket  also, 
Abijah.       Fold    it,  and   lay  it  on   your    frock." 


As  It  Was  91 

Mr.  Johnson  then  took  his  chair,  and  set  it  away 
at  the  farthest  distance  the  floor  would  permit, 
as  if  all  the  space  that  could  be  had  would  be 
necessary  for  the  operations  about  to  take  place. 
He  then  took  the  rattan,  and  seemed  to  exam- 
ine it  closely,  drew  it  through  his  hand,  bent  it 
almost  double,  laid  it  down  again.  He  then 
took  off  his  own  coat,  folded  it  up,  and  laid  it 
on  the  desk.  Abijah's  breast  then  heaved  Hke 
a  bellows,  his  limbs  began  to  tremble,  and  his 
face  was  like  a  sheet.  The  master  now  took 
the  rattan  in  his  right  hand,  and  the  criminal  by 
the  collar  with  his  left,  his  large  knuckles  press- 
ing hard  against  the  shoulder  of  the  boy.  He 
raised  the  stick  high  over  the  shrinking  back. 
Then,  oh  !  what  a  screech  !  Had  the  rod  fallen  ? 
No,  it  still  remained  suspended  in  the  air.     "O 

—  I  won't  do  so  agin  —  I'll  never  do  so  agin  — 
O  —  O  —  don't  —  I  will  be  good  —  sartinly 
will."  The  threatening  instrument  of  pain  was 
gently  taken  from  its  elevation.  The  master 
spoke :    "  You   promise,  do  you  ?  "     "  Yis,  sir, 

—  oh!  yis,  sir."  The  tight  grasp  was  with- 
drawn from  the  collar.  "  Put  on  your  frock 
and  jacket,  and  go  to  your  seat.  The  rest  of 
you  may  now  open  your  books."  The  school 
breathed  again.  Paper  rustled,  feet  were  care- 
fully moved,  the  seats  slightly  cracked,  and  all 


92  The  District  School 

things  went  stilly  on  as  before.  Abijah  kept 
his  promise.  He  became  an  altered  boy ;  obe- 
dient, peaceable,  studious.  This  long  and  slow 
process  of  preparing  for  the  punishment  was  art- 
fully designed  by  the  master,  gradually  to  work 
up  the  boy's  terrors  and  agonizing  expectations 
to  the  highest  pitch,  until  he  should  yield  like 
a  babe  to  the  intensity  of  his  emotions.  His 
stubborn  nature,  which  had  been  like  an  oak 
on  the  hills  which  no  storm  colld  prostrate,  was 
whittled  away  and  demolished,  as  it  were,  sliver 
by  sliver. 

Not  Abijah  Wilkins  only,  but  the  whole 
school  were  subdued  to  the  most  humble  and 
habitual  obedience  by  the  scene  I  have  described. 
The  terror  of  it  seemed  to  abide  in  their  hearts. 
The  school  improved  much  this  winter,  that  is, 
according  to  the  ideas  of  improvement  then  pre- 
vailing. Lessons  were  well  gotten,  and  well 
said,  although  the  why  and  the  wherefore  of  them 
were  not  asked  or  given. 

Mr.  Johnson  was  employed  the  next  winter 
also,  and  it  was  the  prevailing  wish  that  he 
should  be  engaged  for  the  third  time ;  but  he 
could  not  be  obtained.  His  reputation  as  a 
teacher  had  secured  for  him  a  school  at  twenty 
dollars  per  month  for  the  year  round,  in  a  dis- 
tant village  i  so  we  were  never  more  to  sit  "  as 


As  It  Was 


93 


still  as  mice,"  in  his  most  magisterial  presence. 
For  years  the  saying  in  the  district  in  respect  to 
him  was,  "  He  was  the  best  master  I  ever  went 
to;  he  kept  such  good  order,  and  punished  so 
little." 


94  The  District  School 


Chapter   XV 

Going  out  —  making  Bows  —  Boys  com- 
ing in  —  Girls  going  out  and  coming  in 

THE  young  are  proverbially  ignorant  of  the 
value  of  time.  There  is  one  portion 
of  it,  however,  which  they  well  know  how  to 
appreciate.  They  feel  it  to  be  a  wealth  both 
to  body  and  soul.  Its  few  moments  are  truly 
golden  ones,  forming  a  glittering  spot  amid  the 
drossy  dullness  of  in-school  duration.  I  refer 
to  the  forenoon  and  afternoon  recess  for  "  going 
out."  Consider  that  we  came  from  all  the 
freedom  of  the  farm,  where  we  had  the  sweep 
of  acres  —  hills,  valleys,  woods,  and  waters, 
and  were  crowded,  I  may  say  packed,  into  the 
district  box.  Each  one  had  scarcely  more  space 
than  would  allow  him  to  shift  his  head  from  an 
inclination  to  one  shoulder  to  an  inclination  to 
the  other,  or  from  leaning  on  the  right  elbow, 
to  leaning  on  the  left.  There  we  were,  the 
blood  of  health  bouncing  through  our  veins, 
feeding  our  strength,  swelling  our  dimensions; 


As  It  Was  95 

and  there  we  must  stay,  three  hours  on  a 
stretch,  with  the  exception  of  the  aforemen- 
tioned recess.  No  wonder  that  we  should 
prize  this  brief  period  high,  and  rush  tumultu- 
ously  out  doors  to  enjoy  it. 

There  is  one  circumstance  in  going  out  which 
so  much  amuses  my  recollection  that  I  will 
venture  to  describe  it.  It  is  the  making  of  our 
bows,  or  manners,  as  it  is  called.  If  one  wishes 
to  see  variety  in  the  doing  of  a  single  act,  let 
him  look  at  school-boys,  leaving  their  bows  at 
the  door.  Tell  me  not  of  the  diversities  and 
characteristics,  of  the  gentilities  and  the  awk- 
wardnesses in  the  civility  of  shaking  hands. 
The  bow  is  as  diversified  and  characteristic,  as 
awkward  or  genteel,  as  any  movement  many- 
motioned  man  is  called  on  to  make.  Especially 
in  a  country  school,  where  fashion  and  polite- 
ness have  not  altered  the  tendencies  of  nature 
by  forming  the  manners  of  all  after  one  model 
of  propriety.  Besides,  the  bow  was  before  the 
shake,  both  in  the  history  of  the  world,  and  in 
that  of  every  individual  man.  No  doubt  the 
world's  first  gentleman,  nature-taught,  declined 
his  head  in  some  sort,  in  saluting  for  the  first 
time  the  world's  first  lady,  in  primitive  Eden. 
And  no  doubt  every  little  boy  has  been  in- 
structed to  make  a  ''nice  bow,"  from  chubby 


96  The  District  School 

Cain,  Abel,  and  Seth,  down  to  the  mannered 
younglings  of  the  present  day. 

Well,  then,  it  is  near  half-past  ten,  a.m.,  but 
seemingly  eleven  to  the  impatient  youngsters ; 
anticipation  rather  than  reflection,  being  the 
faculty  most  in  action  just  now.  At  last  the 
master  takes  out  his  watch,  and  gives  a  hasty 
glance  at  the  index  of  the  hour.  Or,  if  this 
premonitory  symptom  docs  not  appear,  watch- 
ing eyes  can  discern  the  sign%  of  the  time  in  the 
face  relaxing  itself  from  severe  duty,  and  in  the 
moving  lips  just  assuming  that  precise  form 
necessary  to  pronounce  the  sentence  of  libera- 
tion. Then,  make  ready,  take  aim,  is  at  once 
the  order  of  every  idler.  "  The  boys  may  go 
out."  The  little  white  heads  on  the  little  seat, 
as  it  is  called,  are  the  foremost,  having  nothing 
in  front  to  impede  a  straight-forward  sally.  One 
little  nimble-foot  is  at  the  door  in  an  instant ; 
and,  as  he  lifts  the  latch,  he  tosses  off^  a  bow 
over  his  left  shoulder,  and  is  out  in  a  twinkling. 
The  next  perhaps  squares  himself  towards  the 
master  with  more  precision,  not  having  his 
attention  divided  between  opening  the  door  and 
leaving  his  manners.  Next  comes  the  very 
least  of  the  little,  just  in  front  of  the  big-boy 
rush  behind  him,  tap-tapping  and  tottering  along 
the  floor,  with  his  finger  in  his  nose;  but,  in 


As  It  Was  97 

wheeling  from  his  bow,  he  blunders  head  first 
through  the  door,  in  his  anxiety  to  get  out  of 
the  way  of  the  impending  throng  of  fists  and 
knees  behind,  in  avoiding  which  he  is  prostrated 
under  the  tramp  of  cowhide. 

Now  come  the  Bigs  from  behind  the  writing 
benches.  Some  of  them  make  a  bow  with  a 
jerk  of  the  head  and  snap  of  the  neck  possi- 
ble only  to  giddy-brained,  oily-jointed  boyhood. 
Some,  whose  mothers  are  of  the  precise  cast, 
or  who  have  had  their  manners  stiffened  at  a 
dancing-school,  will  wait  till  the  throng  is  a  little 
thinned  ;  and  then  they  will  strut  out  with  their 
arms  as  straight  at  their  sides  as  if  there  were  no 
such  things  as  elbows,  and  will  let  their  upper 
person  bend  upon  the  middle  hinge,  as  if  this 
were  the  only  joint  in  their  frames.  Some  look 
straight  at  their  toes,  as  the  face  descends 
toward  the  floor.  Others  strain  a  glance  up  at 
the  master,  displaying  an  uncommon  proportion 
of  that  beauty  of  the  eye,  —  the  white.  Lastly 
come  the  tenants  of  the  extreme  back  seat,  the 
Anaks  of  the  school.  One  long-limbed,  lank- 
sided,  back-bending  fellow  of  twenty  is  at  the 
door  at  four  strides ;  he  has  the  proper  curve 
already  prepared  by  his  ordinary  gait,  and  he  has 
nothing  to  do  but  swing  round  towards  the  mas- 
ter, and  his  manners  are  made.     Another,  whose 

H 


98  The  District  School 

body  is  developed  in  the  full  proportions  of 
manhood,  turns  himself  half  way,  and  just  gives 
the  slightest  inclination  of  the  person.  He 
thinks  himself  too  much  of  a  man  to  make  such 
a  ridiculous  popping  of  the  pate  as  the  younglings 
who  have  preceded  him.  Another,  with  a  tread 
that  makes  the  floor  tremble,  goes  straight  out 
through  the  open  door,  without  turning  to  the 
right  or  left ;  as  much  as  to  say,  *■*•  I  am  quite  too 
old  for  that  business."  • 

There  are  two  in  the  short  seat  at  the  end 
of  the  spelling-floor  who  have  almost  attained 
to  the  glorious,  or  rather  vain-glorious  age  of 
twenty-one.  They  are  perhaps  even  more  aged 
than  the  venerable  Rabbi  of  the  school  himself. 
So  they  respect  their  years,  and  put  away  child- 
ish things,  inasmuch  as  they  do  not  go  out  as 
their  juniors  do.  One  of  them  sticks  to  his 
slate.  It  is  his  last  winter ;  and,  as  he  did  not 
catch  flying  time  by  the  forelock,  he  must  cling 
to  his  heel.  The  other  unpuckers  his  arith- 
metical brow,  puts  his  pencil  between  his  teeth, 
leans  his  head  on  his  right  palm,  with  his  left 
fingers  adjusts  his  foretop,  and  then  composes 
himself  into  an  amiable  gaze  upon  the  fair  re- 
mainder of  the  school.  Perhaps  his  eyes  leap  at 
once  to  that  damsel  of  eighteen  in  the  further- 
most seat,  who  is  the  secret  mistress  of  his  heart. 


As  It  Was  99 

How  still  it  is  in  the  absence  of  half  the 
limbs  and  lips  of  the  domain  !  That  little  girl 
who  has  been  buzzing  round  her  lesson  like  a 
bee  round  a  honey-suckle,  off  and  on  by  turns, 
is  now  sipping  its  sweets,  if  any  sweets  there 
be,  as  closely  and  stilly  as  that  same  bee  plunged 
in  the  bell  of  the  flower.  The  secret  of  the 
unwonted  silence  is,  the  master  knows  on  which 
side  of  the  aisle  to  look  for  noise  and  mischief 
now. 

It  is  time  for  the  boys  to  come  in.  The 
master  raps  on  the  window  as  a  signal.  At  first 
they  scatter  in  one  by  one,  keeping  the  door  on 
the  slam,  slam.  But  soon,  in  rush  the  main 
body,  pell-mell,  rubbing  their  ears,  kicking  their 
heels,  puffing,  panting,  wheezing.  Impelled  by 
the  temporary  chill,  they  crowd  round  the  fire, 
regaining  the  needed  warmth  as  much  by  the 
exercise  of  elbows  as  by  the  heat  of  fuel. 
"Take  your  seats,  you  that  have  got  warm," 
says  the  master.  No  one  starts.  "  Take  your 
seats,  all  of  you."  Tramp,  tramp,  how  the 
floor  trembles  again,  and  the  seats  clatter. 
There  goes  an  inkstand.  Ben  pinches  Tom 
to  let  him  know  that  he  must  go  in  first.  Tom 
stands  back ;  but  gives  Ben  a  kick  on  the  shins 
as  he  passes,  to  pay  for  that  pinch. 

"The  girls  may  go  out."     The  noise   and 


lOO  The  District  School 

confusion  are  now  of  the  feminine  gender. 
Trip,  trip,  rustle,  rustle.  Shall  I  describe  the 
diversities  of  the  courtesy  ?  I  could  pen  a  trait 
or  two,  but  prefer  to  leave  the  subject  to  the 
more  discriminating  quill  of  the  courtesying 
sex.  The  shrill  tones  and  gossiping  chatter 
of  girlhood  now  ring  from  without.  But  they 
do  not  stay  long.  Trip,  trip,  rustle,  rustle  back 
again.  Half  of  them  are  sucking  a  lump  of 
snow  for  drink.  One  has  bro|^n  an  icicle  from 
the  well-spout,  and  is  nibbing  it  as  she  would 
a  stick  of  candy.  See  Sarah  jump.  The  ice- 
eater's  cold,  dripping  hand  has  mischievously 
sprinkled  her  neck.  Down  goes  the  melting 
little  cone,  and  is  scattered  in  shivers.  "  Take 
your  seats,"  says  authority  with  soft  command. 
He  is  immediately  obeyed ;  and  the  dull  routine 
rolls  on  toward  noon. 


As  It  Was  loi 


Chapter    XVI 

Noon  —  Noise  and  Dinner  —  Sports  at 
School  —  Coasting  —  Snow-balling  —  a 
Certain  Memorable  Snow-ball  Battle 

"VTOON  has  come.  It  is  even  half-past 
■^  ^  twelve ;  for  the  teacher  got  puzzled  with 
a  hard  sum,  and  did  not  attend  to  the  second 
reading  of  the  first  class  so  soon  as  usual  by 
half  an  hour.  It  has  been  hitch,  hitch  — joggle, 
joggle  —  creak,  creak,  all  over  the  school-room 
for  a  considerable  time.  "You  are  dismissed," 
comes  at  last.  The  going  out  of  half  the 
school  only  was  a  noisy  business ;  but  now 
there  is  a  tenfold  thunder,  augmented  by  the 
windy  rush  of  many  petticoats.  All  the  voices 
of  all  the  tongues  now  split  or  rather  shatter 
the  air,  if  I  may  so  speak.  There  are  more 
various  tones  than  could  be  indicated  by  all  the 
epithets  ever  applied  to  sound. 

The  first  manual  operation  is  the  extracting 
of  certain  parcels  from  pockets,  bags,  baskets, 
hat-crowns,  and  perhaps  the  capacious  cavity 
formed  by  the  tie  of  a  short  open  frock.     Then 


I02  The  District  School 

what  a  savory  development, —  bread,  cheese, 
calces,  pies,  sausages,  and  apples  without  num- 
ber !  It  is  voice  versus  appetite  now  for  the 
occupancy  of  the  mouth. 

The  case  is  soon  decided,  that  is,  dinner  is 
dispatched.  Then  commences  what,  in  view 
of  most  of  us,  is  the  chief  business  of  the  day. 
Before  describing  this,  however,  I  would  pre- 
mise a  little.  The  principal  allurement  and 
prime  happiness  of  going  to  gthool,  as  it  used 
to  be  conducted,  was  the  opportunity  it  afforded 
for  social  amusement.  Our  rural  abodes  were 
scattered  generally  a  half  or  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
apart,  and  the  young  could  not  see  each  other 
every  day  as  conveniently  as  they  can  in  a  city 
or  a  village.  The  schooling  season  was  there- 
fore looked  forward  to  as  one  long  series  of 
holidays,  or,  as  Mark  Martin  once  said,  as  so 
many  thanksgiving  days,  except  the  music,  the 
sermon,  and  the  dinner.  Mark  Martin,  let  me 
mention  by  the  way,  was  the  wit  of  the  school. 
Some  of  his  sayings,  that  made  us  laugh  at  the 
time,  I  shall  hereafter  put  down.  They  may 
not  affect  the  reader,  however,  as  they  did  us, 
for  the  lack  of  his  peculiar  manner  which  set 
them  off. 

Of  all  the  sportive  exercises  of  the  winter 
school,  the  most  exhilarating,  indeed   intensely 


As  It  Was  103 

delightful,  was  sliding  down  hill,  or  coasting,  as 
it  is  called.  The  location  of  our  school  was 
uncommonly  favorable  for  this  diversion.  Situ- 
ated as  we  were  on  a  hill,  we  could  go  down 
like  arrows  for  the  eighth  of  a  mile  on  one  side, 
and  half  that  distance  on  the  other.  Almost 
every  boy  had  his  sled.  Some  of  us  got  our 
names  branded  on  the  vehicle,  and  prided  our- 
selves in  the  workmanship  or  the  swiftness  of 
it,  as  mariners  do  in  that  of  a  ship.  We  used 
to  personify  the  dear  little  speeder  with  a  she 
and  a  her,  seamanlike  also.  Take  it  when  a 
few  days  of  severely  cold  and  clear  weather  have 
permitted  the  road  to  be  worn  icy  smooth,  and 
the  careering  little  coaster  is  the  most  enviable 
pleasure-rider  that  was  ever  eager  to  set  out  or 
sorry  to  stop.  The  very  tugging  up  hill  back 
again,  is  not  without  its  pleasure.  The  change 
of  posture  is  agreeable,  and  also  the  stir  of  limb 
and  stretch  of  muscle  for  the  short  time  required 
to  return  to  the  starting  place.  Then  there  is 
the  looking  forward  to  the  glorious  down  hill 
again.  In  all  the  pleasures  of  human  experi- 
ence, there  is  nothing  like  coasting,  for  the 
regular  alternation  of  glowing  anticipation  and 
frame-thrilling  enjoyment. 

Another  sport   which  comes   only   with   the 
winter,  and  is  enjoyed  mostly  at  school   is  the 


I04  The  District  School 

chivalrous  pastime  of  snow-balling.  Take,  for 
instance,  the  earliest  snow  of  winter,  falling 
gently  and  stilly  with  its  feathery  flakes,  of  just 
the  right  moisture  for  easy  manipulation.  Or 
when  the  drifts  soften  in  the  mid-winter  thaw, 
or  begin  to  settle  beneath  the  lengthened  and 
sunny  days  of  March,  then  is  the  season  for  the 
power  and  glory  of  a  snow-ball  fight.  The 
whole  school  of  the  martial  sex  are  out  of  a 
noon-time,  from  the  veterans  of  a  hundred  bat- 
tles down  almost  to  the  freshest  recruits  of  the 
little  front  seat.  Half  against  half,  unless  a 
certain  number  agree  to  "  take "  all  the  rest. 
The  oldest  are  opposed  to  the  oldest  in  the 
hostile  array,  so  that  the  little  round,  and  per- 
haps hard,  missile  may  not  be  out  of  proportion 
to  the  age,  size,  and  toughness  of  the  antagonist 
likely  to  be  hit.  The  little  boys,  of  course, 
against  the  little,  with  this  advantage,  that  their 
discharges  lose  most  of  their  force  before  reach- 
ing the  object  aimed  at.  When  one  is  hit,  he 
is  not  merely  wounded ;  he  is  a  dead  man  as  to 
this  battle.  Here,  no  quarter  is  asked  or  given. 
The  balls  whistle,  the  men  fall,  until  all  are 
defunct  but  one  or  two  individuals,  who  remain 
unkilled  because  there  is  no  enemy  left  to  hurl 
the  fatal  ball. 

But    our    conflicts  were    not    always    make- 


As  It  Was  105 

believes,  and  conducted  according  to  the  formal 
rules  of  play :  these  sham-fights  sometimes 
waxed  into  the  very  reality  of  war. 

The  school  was  about  equally  divided  between 
the  East  and  the  West  ends  of  the  district. 
From  time  immemorial  there  had  come  down 
a  rivalry  between  the  two  parties  in  respect  to 
physical  activity  and  strength.  At  the  close  of 
the  school  in  the  afternoon,  and  at  the  parting 
of  the  scholars  on  their  different  ways  toward 
home,  there  were  almost  always  a  few  farewells 
in  the  form  of  a  sudden  trip-up,  a  dab  of  snow, 
or  an  icy-ball  almost  as  tenderly  soft  and  agree- 
able of  contact  as  that  mellow  thing — a  stone. 
These  valedictories  were  as  courteously  recipro- 
cated from  the  other  side. 

These  slight  skirmishes  would  sometimes 
grow  into  a  general  battle,  when  the  arm  was 
not  careful  to  proportion  the  force  just  so  as  to 
touch  and  no  more,  as  in  a  noon-day  game. 

One  battle  I  recollect,  which  is  worthy  of 
being  commemorated  in  a  book,  at  least  a  book 
about  boyhood,  like  this.  It  is  as  fresh  before 
my  mind's  eye  as  if  it  were  but  yesterday. 

It  had  gently  but  steadily  snowed  all  one 
December  night,  and  almost  all  the  next  day. 
Owing  to  the  weather,  there  were  no  girls  ex- 
cepting Capt.  Clark's  two,  and  no  very  small 


io6  The  District  School 

boys,  at  school.  The  scholars  had  been  unusu- 
ally playful  through  the  day,  and  had  taken  lib- 
erties which  would  not  have  been  tolerated  in 
the  full  school. 

When  we  were  dismissed  at  night,  the  snow 
had  done  falling,  and  the  ammunition  of  just 
the  right  moisture  lay  in  exhaustless  abundance 
on  the  ground,  all  as  level  as  a  floor;  for  there 
had  been  no  wind  to  distribute  unequally  the 
gifts  of  the  impartial  clou4;.  The  first  boy 
that  sprang  from  the  threshold  caught  up  a 
quart  of  the  spotless  but  viscid  material,  and 
whitewashed  the  face  of  the  next  one  at  the 
door,  who  happened  to  belong  to  the  rival  side. 
This  was  a  signal  for  general  action.  As  fast 
as  the  troops  poured  out,  they  rushed  to  the 
conflict.  We  had  not  the  coolness  deliberately 
to  arrange  ourselves  in  battle-order,  line  against 
line ;  but  each  aimed  at  each  as  he  could,  no 
matter  whom,  how,  or  where,  provided  that  he 
belonged  to  the  "  other  End."  We  did  not 
round  the  snow  into  shape,  but  hurled  and 
dashed  it  in  large  masses,  as  we  happened  to 
snatch  or  scoop  it  up.  As  the  combatants  in 
gunpowder  war  are  hidden  from  each  other  by 
clouds  of  their  own  raising,  so  also  our  warriors 
clouded  themselves  from  sight.  And  there  were 
other  obstacles  to  vision  besides  the  discharges 


As  It  Was  107 

in  the  air ;  for  one,  or  both  of  the  eyes  of  us 
all  were  glued  up  and  sealed  in  darkness  by.  the 
damp,  sticky  matter.  The  nasal  and  auditory 
cavities  too  were  temporarily  closed.  And  here 
and  there  a  mouth,  opening  after  a  little  breath, 
received  the  same  snowy  visitation. 

At  length,  from  putting  snow  into  each  other, 
we  took  to  putting  each  other  into  the  snow. 
Not  by  the  formal  and  deliberate  wrestle,  but 
pell-mell,  hurly-burly,  as  foot,  hand,  or  head 
could  find  an  advantage.  The  combatants  were 
covered  with  the  clinging  element.  It  was  as 
if  their  woolen  habiliments  had  turned  back  to 
their  original  white.  So  completely  were  we  all 
besmeared  by  the  same  material,  that  we  could 
not  tell  friend  from  foe  in  the  blind  encounter. 
No  matter  for  this ;  we  were  now  crazed  with 
fun ;  and  we  were  ready  to  carry  it  to  the  ut- 
most extent  that  time  and  space  and  snow  would 
admit.  Just  opposite  the  school-house  door,  the 
hill  descended  very  steeply  from  the  road  for 
about  ren  rods.  The  stone  wall  just  here  was 
quite  low,  and  completely  covered  with  snow 
even  before  this  last  fall.  The  two  stoutest 
champions  of  the  fray  had  been  snowing  it  into 
each  other  like  storm-spirits  from  the  two  op- 
posite poles.  At  length,  as  if  their  snow-bolts 
were  exhausted,  they  seized  each  other  for  the 


io8  The  District  School 

tug  of  muscle  with  muscle.  They  had  uncon- 
sciously worked  themselves  to  the  precipitous 
brink.  Another  stout  fellow  caught  a  glimpse 
of  their  position,  gave  a  rush  and  a  push,  and 
both  Arctic  and  Antarctic  went  tumbling  heels 
hindmost  down  the  steep  declivity,  until  they 
were  stopped  by  the  new-fallen  snow  in  which 
they  were  completely  buried ;  and  one  with  his 
nose  downward  as  if  he  had  voluntarily  dived 
into  his  own  grave.  This  Was  a  signal  for  a 
general  push-ofF,  and  the  performer  of  the  sud- 
den exploit  was  the  first  to  be  gathered  to  his 
victims  below.  In  five  minutes,  all  were  in  the 
same  predicament  but  one,  who,  not  finding 
himself  attacked,  wiped  the  plaster  from  his 
eyes,  and  saw  himself  the  lone  hero  of  the  field. 
He  gave  a  victorious  shout ;  then,  not  liking 
solitude  for  a  playmate,  he  made  a  dauntless 
leap  after  the  rest,  who  were  now  thickly  rising 
from  their  snowy  burial  to  life,  action,  and  fun 
anew.  Now  the  game  is  to  put  each  other 
down,  down,  to  the  bottom  of  the  hill.  There 
is  pulling,  pushing,  pitching,  and  whirling,  every 
species  of  manual  attack,  except  the  pugilistic 
thump  and  knock-down.  One  long  lubber  has 
fallen  exactly  parallel  with  the  bottom ;  and, 
before  he  can  recover  himself,  two  others  are 
rolling  him  down  like  a  senseless  log,  until  the 


As  It  Was 


109 


lumberers  themselves  are  pitched  head  first  over 
their  timber  by  other  hands  still  behind  them. 
But  at  length  we  are  all  at  the  bottom  of  the 
hill,  and  indeed  at  the  bottom  of  our  strength. 
Which  End,  the  East  or  the  West,  had  the  day, 
could  not  be  determined.  In  one  sense  it  be- 
longed to  neither,  for  it  was  night.  We  now 
found  ourselves  in  a  plight  not  particularly  com- 
fortable to  ourselves,  nor  likely  to  be  very  agree- 
able to  the  domestic  guardians  we  must  now 
meet.  But  the  battle  has  been  described,  and 
that  is  enough:  there  is  no  glory  in  the  suffer- 
ing that  succeeds. 


T^> 


no  The  District  School 


Chapter    XVII 

Arithmetic  —  Commencement  —  Progress 
—  Late  Improvement  in  the  Art  of 
Teaching 

A  T  the  age  of  twelve,  d  commenced  the 
•^  ^  study  of  Arithmetic,  that  chiefest  of  sci- 
ences in  Yankee  estimation.  No  man  is  willing 
that  his  son  should  be  without  skill  in  figures. 
And  if  he  does  not  teach  him  his  A  B  C  at  home, 
he  will  the  art  of  counting,  at  least.  Many 
a  father  deems  it  no  hardship  to  instruct  his 
child  to  enumerate  even  up  to  a  hundred,  when 
it  would  seem  beyond  his  capacity,  or  certainly 
beyond  the  leisure  of  his  rainy  days  and  winter 
evenings,  to  sit  down  with  the  formality  of  a 
book,  and  teach  him  to  read. 

The  entering  on  arithmetic  was  quite  an  era 
in  my  school-boy  life.  This  was  placing  me 
decidedly  among  the  great  boys,  and  within 
hailing  distance  of  manhood.  My  feelings  were 
consequently  considerably  elevated.  A  new 
Adams's  Arithmetic  of  the  latest  edition  was 
bought   for  my   use.     It   was   covered  by   the 


As  It  Was  III 

maternal  hand  with  stout  sheepskin,  in  the 
economical  expectation,  that,  after  I  had  done 
with  it,  it  might  help  still  younger  heads  to  the 
golden  science.  A  quire  of  foolscap  was  made 
to  take  the  form  of  a  manuscript  of  the  full 
length  of  the  sheet,  with  a  pasteboard  cover,  as 
more  suitable  to  the  dignity  of  such  superior 
dimensions  than  flimsy  brown  paper. 

I  had  also  a  bran  new  slate,  for  Ben  used 
father's  old  one.  It  was  set  in  a  frame  wrought 
by  the  aforesaid  Ben,  who  prided  himself  on 
his  knack  at  tools,  considering  that  he  had 
never  served  an  apprenticeship  at  their  use. 
There  was  no  lack  of  timber  in  the  fabrication. 
Mark  Martin  said  that  he  could  make  a  better 
frame  with  a  jack-knife  in  his  left  hand,  and 
keep  his  right  in  his  pocket. 

My  first  exercise  was  transcribing  from  my 
Arithmetic  to  my  manuscript.  At  the  top  of  the 
first  page  I  penned  ARITHMETIC,  in  capitals 
an  inch  high,  and  so  broad  that  this  one  word 
reached  entirely  across  the  page.  At  a  due 
distance  below,  I  wrote  the  word  Addition  in 
large,  coarse  hand,  beginning  with  a  lofty  A, 
which  seemed  like  the  drawing  of  a  mountain 
peak,  towering  above  the  level  wilderness  below. 
Then  came  Rule^  in  a  little  smaller  hand,  so 
that    there   was  a   regular  gradation    from    the 


112  The  District  School 

enormous  capitals  at  the  top,  down  to  the  fine 
running  —  no,  hobbling  hand  in  which  I  wrote 
ofF  the  rule. 

Now  slate  and  pencil  and  brain  came  into 
use.  I  met  with  no  difficulty  at  first ;  Simple 
Addition  was  as  easy  as  counting  my  fingers. 
But  there  was  one  thing  I  could  not  understand 
—  that  carrying  of  tens.  It  was  absolutely 
necessary,  I  perceived,  in  order  to  get  the 
right  answer;  yet  it  was  agnystery  which  that 
arithmetical  oracle,  our  schoolmaster,  did  not 
see  fit  to  explain.  It  is  possible  that  it  was 
a  mystery  to  him.  Then  came  Subtraction. 
The  borrowing  of  ten  was  another  unaccount- 
able operation.  The  reason  seemed  to  me  then 
at  the  very  bottom  of  the  well  of  science ;  and 
there  it  remained  for  that  winter,  for  no  friendly 
bucket  brought  it  up  to  my  reach.  \ 

Every  rule  was  transcribed  to  my  manuscript, 
and  each  sum  likewise  as  it  stood  proposed  in 
the  book,  and  also  the  whole  process  of  figures 
by  which  the  answer  was  found. 

Each  rule,  moreover,  was,  or  rather  was  to  be, 
committed  to  memory,  word  for  word,  which 
to  me  was  the  most  tedious  and  difficult  job 
of  the  whole. 

I  advanced  as  far  as  Reduction  this  first 
winter,  and    a   third    through    my  manuscript. 


As  It  Was  113 

perhaps.  The  end  of  the  Arithmetic  seemed 
ahnost  as  far  off  in  the  future  as  that  end  of 
boyhood  and  under-age  restraint,  twenty-one. 

The  next  winter  I  began  at  Addition  again, 
to  advance  just  through  Interest.  My  third 
season  I  went  over  the  same  ground  again,  and, 
besides  that,  ciphered  to  the  very  last  sum  in 
the  Rule  of  Three.  This  was  deemed  quite 
an  achievement  for  a  lad  only  fourteen  years 
old,  according  to  the  ideas  prevailing  at  that 
period.  Indeed,  whoever  ciphered  through  the 
above-mentioned  rule  was  supposed  to  have 
arithmetic  enough  for  the  common  purposes 
of  life.  If  one  proceeded  a  few  rules  beyond 
this,  he  was  considered  quite  smart.  But  if  he 
went  clear  through  —  Miscellaneous  Questions 
and  all — he  was  thought  to  have  an  extraordi- 
nary taste  and  genius  for  figures.  Now  and 
then,  a  youth,  after  having  been  through 
Adams,  entered  upon  old  Pike,  the  arithmeti- 
cal sage  who  "  set  the  sums "  for  the  pre- 
ceding generation.  Such  were  called  great 
*'  arithmeticians." 

The  fourth  winter  I  advanced  —  but  it  is 
not  important  to  the  purpose  of  this  work 
that  I  should  record  the  minutiae  of  my  progress 
in  the  science  of  numbers.  Suffice  it  to  say, 
that  I  was  not  one  of  the  "  great  at  figures." 
I 


1 14  The  District  School 

The  female  portion  of  the  school,  we  may 
suppose,  generally  expected  to  obtain  husbands 
to  perform  whatever  arithmetical  operations  they 
might  need,  beyond  the  counting  of  fingers  :  so 
the  science  found  no  special  favor  with  them. 
If  pursued  at  all,  it  was  neglected  till  the  last 
year  or  two  of  their  schooling.  Most  were 
provident  enough  to  cipher  as  far  as  through 
the  four  simple  rules ;  for  although  they  had  no 
idea  of  becoming  old  maidsf  they  might  possi- 
bly, however,  be  left  widows.  Had  arithmetic 
been  pursued  at  the  summer  school,  those  who 
intended  to  be  summer  teachers  would  probably 
have  thought  more  of  the  science,  and  have  pro- 
ceeded further,  even  perhaps  to  the  Rule  of 
Three.  But  a  schoolmistress  would  as  soon 
have  expected  to  teach  the  Arabic  language  as 
the  numerical  science.  So,  ignorance  of  it  was 
no  dishonor  even  to  the  first  and  best  of  the 
sex. 


As  It  Was  115 


Chapter   XVIII 

Augustus  Starr,  the  Privateer  who 
turned  Pedagogue  —  his  New  Crew 
mutiny,  and  perform  a  Singular  Ex- 
ploit 

IVyrY  tenth  winter,  our  school  was  put  under 
-^  -*•  the  instruction  of  a  person  named 
Augustus  Starr.  He  was  a  nativ^e  of  a  neigh- 
boring town,  and  was  acquainted  with  the  com- 
mittee. He  had  taught  school  some  years  be- 
fore, but  of  late  had  been  engaged  in  a  business 
not  particularly  conducive  to  improvement  in  the 
art  of  teaching.  He  had  been  an  inferior  officer 
aboard  a  privateer  in  the  late  war,  which  termi- 
nated the  previous  winter.  At  the  return  of 
peace,  he  betook  himself  to  land;  and,  till  some- 
thing more  suitable  to  his  tastes  and  habits 
should  offer,  he  concluded  to  resume  school- 
keeping,  at  least  for  one  winter. 

He  came  to  our  town;  and,  finding  an  old 
acquaintance  seeking  for  a  teacher,  he  offered 
himself,  and  was  accepted.  He  was  rather  gen- 
teelly dressed,  and  gentlemanly  in  his  manners. 


ii6  The  District  School 

Mr.  Starr  soon  manifested  that  stern  com- 
mand, rather  than  mild  persuasion,  had  been 
his  method  of  preserving  order,  and  was  to  be, 
still.  This  would  have  been  put  up  with  ;  but 
he  soon  showed  that  he  could  deal  in  blows  as 
well  as  words,  and  these  not  merely  with  the 
customary  ferule,  or  supple  and  tingling  stick, 
but  with  whatever  came  to  hand.  He  knocked 
ofte-^ad  down  with  his  fist,  hurled  a  stick 
of  wood  at  another,  whicsh  missed  breaking 
his  head  because  it  struck  the  ceiling,  mak- 
ing a  dent  which  fearfully  indicated  what 
would  have  been  the  consequence  had  the  j 
skull  been  hit.  The  scholars  were  terrified, 
parents  were  alarmed,  and  some  kept  their 
younger  children  at  home.  There  was  an  up- 
roar in  the  district.  A  school-meeting  was 
threatened  for  the  purpose  of  dismissing  the 
captain,  as  he  began  to  be  called,  in  reference 
to  the  station  he  had  lately  filled,  although  it 
was  not  a  captaincy.  BnC^e  commanded  the 
school-house  crew :  so,  in  speaking  of  him, 
they  gave  him  a  corresponding  title.  In  con- 
sequence of  these  indications,  our  officer  be-  * 
came  less  dangerous  in  his  modes  of  punish- 
ment, and  was  permitted  to  continue  still  in  ' 
command.  But  he  was  terribly  severe,  never- 
theless }  and  in  his  words  of  menace,  he  mani- 


As  It  Was  117 

fested  no  particular  respect  for  that  one  of  the 
ten  commandments  which  forbids  profanity. 
But  he  took  pains  with  his  pupils,  and  they 
made  considerable  progress  according  to  the 
prevailing  notions  of  education. 

Toward  the  close  of  the  school,  however, 
Starr's  fractious  temper,  his  cufFs,  thumps,  and 
cudgelings,  waxed  dangerous  again.  There 
were  signs  of  mutiny  among  the  large  scholars, 
and  there  were  provocations  and  loud  talk 
among  parents.  The  man  of  violence,  even  at 
this  late  period,  would  have  been  dismissed  by 
the  authority  of  the  district,  had  not  a  sudden 
and  less  formal  ejection  overtaken  him. 

The  captain  had  been  outrageously  severe, 
and  even  cruel,  to  some  of  the  smaller  boys. 
The  older  brothers  of  the  sufferers,  with  others 
of  the  back  seat,  declared  among  themselves, 
that  they  would  put  him  by  force  out  of  the 
school-house,  if  anything  of  the  like  should 
happen  again.  The  very  afternoon  succeeding 
this  resolution,  an  opportunity  offered  to  put  it 
to  the  test.  John  Howe,  for  some  trifling  mis- 
demeanor, received  a  cut  with  the  edge  of  the 
ruler  on  his  head,  which  drew  blood.  The 
dripping  wound  and  the  scream  of  the  boy 
were  a  signal  for  action,  as  if  a  murderer  were 
at   his    fell    deed   before  their  eyes.      Thomas 


ii8  The  District  School 

Howe,  one  of  the  oldest  in  the  school  and  the 
brother  of  the  abused,  and  Mark  Martin,  were 
at  the  side  of  our  privateer  in  an  instant.  Two 
others  followed.  His  ruler  was  wrested  from 
his  hand,  and  he  was  seized  by  his  legs  and 
shoulders,  before  he  could  scarcely  think  into 
what  hands  he  had  fallen.  He  was  carried, 
kicking  and  swearing,  out  of  doors.  But  this 
was  not  the  end  of  his  headlong  and  horizontal 
career.  "  To  the  side  hi|^  to  the  side  hill," 
cried  Mark,  who  had  him  by  the  head.  Now 
it  so  happened  that  the  hillside  opposite  the 
school-house  door  was  crusted,  and  as  smooth 
and  slippery  as  pure  ice,  from  a  recent  rain. 
To  this  pitch,  then,  he  was  borne,  and  in  all 
the  haste  that  his  violent  struggles  would  per- 
mit. Over  he  was  thrust,  as  if  he  were  a  log ; 
and  down  he  went,  giving  one  of  his  bearers  a 
kick  as  he  was  shoved  from  their  hands,  which 
action  of  the  'ftSot  sent  him  more  swiftly  on  his 
way  from  the  rebound.  There  was  no  bush  or 
stone  to  catch  by  in  his  descent,  and  he  clawed 
the  unyielding  crust  with  his  nails,  for  the  want 
of  anything  more  prominent  on  which  to  lay 
hold.  Down,  down  he  went.  Oh  for  a  pile 
of  stones  or  a  thicket  of  thorns  to  cling  to, 
even  at  the  expense  of  torn  apparel  or  scratched 
fingers  !     Down,  down  he  went,  until  he  fairly 


As  It  Was  119 

came  to  the  climax,  or   rather  anti-climax,   of 
his  pedagogical  career. 

When  our  master  had  come  to  a  "  period  or 
full  stop,"  to  quote  from  the  spelling-book,  he 
lay  a  moment  as  if  he  had  left  his  breath 
behind  him,  or  as  if  querying  whether  he  should 
consider  himself  alive  or  not ;  or  perhaps 
whether  it  were  really  his  own  honorable  self 
who  had  been  voyaging  in  this  unseamanlike 
fashion,  or  somebody  else.  He  at  length  arose 
and  stood  upright,  facing  the  ship  of  literature 
which  he  had  lately  commanded  ;  and  his  mu- 
tinous crew,  great  and  small,  male  and  female, 
now  lining  the  side  of  the  road  next  to  the 
declivity,  from  which  most  of  them  had  wit- 
nessed his  expedition.  The  movement  had 
been  so  sudden,  and  the  ejection  so  unantici- 
pated by  the  school  in  general,  that  they  were 
stupefied  with  amazement.  And  the  bold  per- 
formers of  the  exploit  were  almost  as  much 
amazed  as  the  rest,  excepting  Mark,  who  still 
retained  coolness  enough  for  his  joke.  "  What 
think  of  the  coasting  trade,  captain  ?  "  shouted 
Mark;  "is  it  as  profitable  as  privateering?" 
Our  coaster  made  no  reply,  but  turned  in  pur- 
suit of  a  convenient  footing  to  get  up  into  the 
road,  and  to  the  school-house  again.  While 
he  was  at  a  distance  approaching  his  late  station 


I20  The  District  School 

of  command,  Mark  Martin  stepped  forward  to 
hold  a  parley  with  him.  "  We  have  a  word  to 
say  to  you,  sir,  before  you  come  much  farther. 
If  you  will  come  back  peaceably,  you  may 
come ;  but  as  sure  as  you  meddle  with  any  of 
us,  we  will  make  you  acquainted  with  the  heft 
and  the  hardness  of  our  fists,  and  of  stones  and 
clubs  too,  if  we  must.  The  ship  is  no  longer 
yours }  so  look  out,  for  we  are  our  own  men 
now."  Starr  replied,  "  I  do  not  wish  to  have 
anything  more  to  do  with  the  school  j  but 
there  is  another  law  besides  club  law,  and  that 
you  have  got  to  take."  But  when  he  came  up 
and  saw  John  Howe's  face  stained  with  blood, 
and  his  head  bound  up  as  if  it  had  received  the 
stroke  of  a  cutlass,  he  began  to  J«ek  rather 
blank.  Our  spokesman  reminded  him  of  what 
he  had  done,  and  inquired,  "  which  is  the 
worse,  a  ride  and  a  slide,  or  a  gashed  head  ? " 
*'  I  rather  guess  that  you  are  the  one  to  look 
out  for  the  law,"  said  Thomas  Howe,  with  a 
threatening  tone  and  look.  Whether  this  hint 
had  effect,  I  know  not,  but  he  never  com- 
menced a  prosecution.  He  gathered  up  his 
goods  and  chattels,  and  left  the  school-house. 
The  scholars  gathered  up  their  implements  of 
learning,  and  left  likewise,  after  the  boys  had 
taken  one  more  glorious  slide  down  hill. 


As  It  Was 


121 


There  were  both  gladness  and  regret  in  that 
dispersion ;  —  gladness  that  they  had  no  more 
broken  heads,  shattered  hands,  and  skinned 
backs  to  fear;  and  regret  that  the  season  of 
schooling,  and  of  social  and  delightful  play,  had 
been  cut  short  by  a  week. 

The  news  reached  most  of  the  district  in  the 
course  of  the  next  day,  that  our  "  man  of  war," 
as  he  was  sometimes  called,  had  sailed  out  of 
port  the  night  before. 


122  The  District  School 


Chapter    XIX 

Eleventh  Winter  —  Mr.  Silverson,  our 
First  Teacher  from  College  —  his  Blun- 
der at  Meeting  on  the  Sabbath  —  his 
Character  as  a  Schoolmaster 

THIS  winter,  Major  Allen  was  the  commit- 
tee; and,  of  course,  everybody  expected 
a  dear  master,  if  not  a  good  one  ;  he  had  always 
expressed  himself  so  decidedly  against  "  your 
cheap  trash."  They  were  not  disappointed. 
They  had  a  dear  master,  high  priced  and  not 
much  worth.  Major  Allen  sent  to  college  for 
an  instructor,  as  a  young  gentleman  from  such 
an  institution  must  of  course  be  qualified  as  to 
learning,  and  would  give  a  higher  tone  to  the 
school.  He  had  good  reason  for  the  expecta- 
tion, as  a  gentleman  from  the  same  institution 
had  taught  the  two  preceding  winters  in 
another  town  where  Major  Allen  was  inti- 
mately acquainted,  and  gave  the  highest  satis- 
faction. But  he  was  a  very  different  sort  of 
person  from  Mr.  Frederic  Silverson,  of  the  city 
of ,  member  of  the  junior  class  in 


As  It  Was  123 

College.  This  young  gentleman  did  not  teach 
eight  weeks,  at  eighteen  dollars  per  month,  for 
the  sake  of  the  trifling  sum  to  pay  his  college 
bills,  and  help  him  to  rub  a  little  more  easily 
through.  He  kept  for  fun,  as  he  told  his  fellow 
bucks  J  that  is,  to  see  the  fashions  of  country 
life,  to  "  cut  capers  "  among  folks  whose  opinion 
he  didn't  care  for,  and  to  bring  back  something 
to  laugh  about  all  the  next  term.  The  money, 
too,  was  a  consideration,  as  it  would  pay  a  bill 
or  two  which  he  preferred  that  his  very  indul- 
gent father  should  not  know  of. 

Major  Allen  had  written  to  some  of  the  col- 
lege authorities  for  an  instructor,  not  doubting 
that  he  should  obtain  one  of  proved  worth,  or 
at  least  one  who  had  been  acquainted  with 
country  schools  in  his  boyhood,  and  would 
undertake  with  such  motives  as  would  insure 
a  faithful  discharge  of  his  duties.  But  a  tutor, 
an  intimate  acquaintance  of  Silverson's  family, 
was  requested  to  aid  the  self-rusticating  son  to 
a  school ;  so  by  this  means  this  city  beau  and 
college  buck  was  sent  to  preside  over  our  dis- 
trict seminary  of  letters. 

Well,  Mr.  Silverson  arrived  on  Saturday  even- 
ing at  Capt.  Clark's.  Sunday,  he  went  to  meet- 
ing. He  was,  indeed,  a  very  genteel-looking 
personage,  and  caused  quite  a  sensation  among 


124  The  District  School 

the  young  people  in  our  meeting-house,  espe- 
cially those  of  our  district.  He  was  tall,  but 
rather  slender,  with  a  delicate  skin,  and  a  cheek 
whose  roses  had  not  been  uprooted  from  their 
native  bed  by  what,  in  college,  is  called  hard 
digging.  His  hair  was  cut  and  combed  in  the 
newest  fashion,  as  was  supposed,  being  arranged 
very  differently  from  that  of  our  young  men. 
Then  he  wore  a  cloak  of  many-colored  plaid, 
in  which  flaming  red,  howe^^r,  was  predomi- 
nant. A  plaid  cloak  —  this  was  a  new  thing  in 
our  obscure  town  at  that  period,  and  struck  us 
with  admiration.  We  had  seen  nothing  but 
surtouts  and  greatcoats  from  our  fathers'  sheep 
and  our  mothers'  looms.  His  cravat  was  tied 
behind ;  this  was  another  novelty.  We  had 
never  dreamed  but  that  the  knot  should  be 
made,  and  the  ends  should  dangle  beneath  the 
chin.  Then  his  bosom  flourished  with  a  ruffle, 
and  glistened  with  a  breast-pin,  such  as  were 
seldom  seen  so  far  among  the  hills. 

Capt.  Clark  unconsciously  assumed  a  stateli- 
ness  of  gait  unusual  to  him,  as  he  led  the  way 
up  the  center  aisle,  introduced  the  gentleman 
into  his  pew,  and  gave  him  his  own  seat,  that 
is,  next  the  isle,  and  the  most  respectable  in  the 
pew.  The  young  gentleman,  not  having  been 
accustomed  to  such  deference  in  public,  was  a 


As  It  Was  125 

little  confused ;  and  when  he  heard,  "  That  is 
the  new  master,"  whispered  very  distinctly  by 
some  one  near,  and,  on  looking  up,  saw  himself 
the  center  of  an  all-surrounding  stare,  he  was 
smitten  with  a  fit  of  bashfulness,  such  as  he  had 
never  felt  before.  So  he  quiddled  with  his  fin- 
gers, sucked  and  bit  his  lips,  as  a  relief  to  his 
feelings,  the  same  as  those  rustic  starers  would 
have  done  at  a  splendid  party  in  his  mother's 
drawing-rooms.  During  singing,  he  was  intent 
on  the  hymn-book,  in  the  prayer  he  bent  over 
the  pew-side,  and  during  the  sermon  looked 
straight  at  the  preacher  —  a  churchlike  deport- 
ment which  he  had  never,  perhaps,  manifested 
before,  and  probably  may  never  have  since.  He 
was  certainly  not  so  severely  decorous  in  that 
meeting-house  again.  After  the  forenoon  ser- 
vices, he  committed  a  most  egregious  blunder, 
by  which  his  bashfulness  was  swallowed  up  in 
shame.  It  was  the  custom  in  country  towns 
then,  for  all  who  sat  upon  the  center  or  broad 
aisle,  as  it  was  called,  to  remain  in  their  pews 
till  the  reverend  man  of  the  pulpit  had  passed 
along  by.  Our  city-bred  gentleman  was  not 
apprised  of  this  etiquette ;  for  it  did  not  prevail 
in  the  metropolis.  Well,  as  soon  as  the  last 
amen  was  pronounced,  Capt.  Clark  politely 
handed  him  his  hat ;  and,  being  next  to  the  pew 


126  The  District  School 

door,  he  supposed  he  must  make  his  egress  first. 
He  stepped  out,  and  had  gone  several  feet  down 
the  aisle,  when  he  observed  old  and  young  stand- 
ing in  their  pews  on  both  sides,  in  front  of  his 
advance,  staring  at  him  as  if  surprised,  and  some 
of  them  with  an  incipient  laugh.  He  turned  his 
head,  and  gave  a  glance  back;  and,  behold,  he 
was  alone  in  the  long  avenue,  with  a  double  line 
of  eyes  aimed  at  him  from  behind  as  well  as 
before.  All  seemed  waiting  •for  the  minister, 
who  by  this  time  had  just  reached  the  foot  of 
the  pulpit  stairs.  He  was  confounded  with  a 
consciousness  of  his  mistake.  Should  he  keep 
on  or  return  to  the  pew,  was  a  momentary 
question.  It  was  a  dilemma  worse  than  any 
in  logic.  But  finally,  back  he  was  going,  when, 
behold,  Capt.  Clark's  pew  was  blocked  up  by 
the  out-poured  and  out-pouring  throng  of  people, 
with  the  minister  at  their  head.  What  should 
he  do  now  ?  He  wheeled  again,  dropped  his 
head,  put  his  left  hand  to  his  face,  and  went 
crouching  down  the  aisle,  and  out  of  the  door, 
like  a  boy  going  out  with  the  nose-bleed. 

On  the  ensuing  morning,  our  collegian  com- 
menced school.  He  had  never  taught,  and  had 
never  resided  in  the  country  before.  He  had 
acquired  a  knowledge  of  the  daily  routine  usu- 
ally pursued  in  school,  from  a  class-mate  who 


As  It  Was  127 

had  some  experience  in  the  vocation ;  so  he 
began  things  right  end  foremost,  and  finished  at 
the  other  extremity  in  due  order;  but  they  were 
most  clumsily  handled  all  the  way  through. 
His  first  fault  was  exceeding  indolence.  He 
had  escaped  beyond  the  call  of  the  morning 
prayer-bell,  that  had  roused  him  at  dawn,  and 
he  seemed  resolved  to  replenish  his  nature  with 
sleep.  He  was  generally  awakened  to  the  con- 
sciousness"of  being  a  schoolmaster  by  the  ringing 
shouts  of  his  waiting  pupils.  Then  a  country 
breakfast  was  too  delicious  a  contrast  to  college 
commons  to  be  cut  short.  Thus  that  point  of 
duration  called  nine  o'clock,  and  school  time, 
often  approximated  exceedingly  near  to  ten  that 
winter. 

Mr.  Silverson  did  not  visit  in  the  several 
families  of  the  district,  as  most  of  his  predeces- 
sors had  done.  He  would  have  been  pleased  to 
visit  at  every  house,  for  he  was  socially  inclined ; 
and  what  was  more,  he  desired  to  pick  up  "  food 
for  fun "  when  he  should  return  to  college. 
But  the  people  did  not  think  themselves  "smart" 
enough  to  entertain  a  collegian,  and  the  son  of 

the  rich  Mr. ,  of  the  city  of ,  besides. 

Or,  perhaps,  what  is  coming  nearer  the  precise 
truth,  his  habits  and  pursuits  were  so  different 
from  theirs,  that  they  did  not  know  exactly  how 


128  The  District  School 

to  get  at  him,  and  in  what  manner  to  attempt 
to  entertain  him ;  and  he,  on  the  other  hand,  did 
not  know  how  to  fall  into  the  train  of  their  asso- 
ciations in  his  conversation,  so  as  to  make  them 
feel  at  ease,  and,  as  it  were,  at  home  with  him. 
Another  circumstance  ought  to  be  mentioned, 
perhaps.  The  people  very  soon  contracted  a 
growing  prejudice  against  our  schoolmaster,  on 
account  of  his  very  evident  unfitness  for  his 
present  vocation,  and  espeoially  his  unpardon- 
able indolence  and  neglect  of  duty. 

So  Mr.  Silverson  was  not  invited  out,  except- 
ing by  Major  Allen,  who  engaged  him,  and  by 
two  or  three  others  who  chanced  to  come  in 
contact  with  him,  and  to  find  him  more  sociably 
disposed,  and  a  less  formidable  personage,  than 
they  anticipated.  He  spent  most  of  his  even- 
ings, therefore,  at  his  boarding-place,  with  one 
volume  in  his  hand,  generally  that  of  a  novel, 
and  another  volume  issuing  from  his  mouth, — 
that  of  smoke;  and  as  his  chief  object  was  just 
to  kill  time,  he  was  not  careful  that  the  former 
should  not  be  as  fumy,  as  baseless,  and  as  un- 
profitable as  the  latter.  As  for  the  Greek, 
Latin,  and  mathematics,  to  which  he  should 
have  devoted  some  portion  of  his  time,  accord- 
ing to  the  college  regulations,  he  never  looked 
at  them  till  his  return.     Then  he  just  glanced 


As  It  Was 


129 


them  over,  and  trusted  luck  when  he  was  exam- 
ined for  two  weeks'  study,  as  he  had  done  a 
hundred  times  before  at  his  daily  recitation. 

What  our  young  college  buck  carried  back 
to  laugh  about  all  the  next  term,  I  do  not 
know,  unless  it  was  his  own  dear  self,  for 
being  so  foolish  as  to  undertake  a  business  for 
which  he  was  so  utterly  unfit,  and  from  which 
he  derived  so  little  pleasure,  compared  with  his 
anticipations. 


130  The  District  School 


Chapter  XX 

A  College  Master  again  —  his  Character 
in  School  and  out  —  our  First  At- 
tempts at  Composition — Brief  Sketch 
of  Another  Teacher 

"|\  yTY  twelfth  winter  has  arrived.  It  was 
-^*-''  thought  best  to  try  a  teacher  from  col- 
lege again,  as  the  committee  had  been  assured 
that  there  were  teachers  to  be  found  there  of 
the  first  order,  and  well  worth  the  high  price 
they  demanded  for  their  services.  A  Mr.  Ellis 
was  engaged  at  twenty  dollars  per  month,  from 
the  same  institution  mentioned  before.  Par- 
ticular pains  were  taken  to  ascertain  the  college 
character,  and  the  school-keeping  experience  of 
the  gentleman,  before  his  engagement,  and  they 
were  such  as  to  warrant  the  highest  expecta- 
tions. 

The  instructor  was  to  board  round  in  the 
several  families  of  the  district,  who  gave 
the  board  an  order  to  lengthen  the  school 
to  the  usual  term.  It  happened  that  he  was 
to  be  at  our  house  the  first  week.     On  Satur- 


As  It  Was  131 

day  Mr.  Ellis  arrived.  It  was  a  great  event  to 
us  children  for  the  master  to  stop  at  our  house, 
and  one  from  college  too.  We  were  smitten 
with  bashfulness,  and  stiffened  into  an  awkward- 
ness unusual  with  us,  even  among  strangers. 
But  this  did  not  last  long.  Our  guest  put  us 
all  at  ease  very  soon.  He  seemed  just  like  one 
of  us,  or  like  some  unpuffed-up  uncle  from  gen- 
teeler  life,  who  had  dropped  in  upon  us  for  a 
night,  with  cordial  heart,  chatty  tongue,  and 
merry  laugh.  He  seemed  perfectly  acquainted 
with  our  prevailing  thoughts  and  feelings,  and 
let  his  conversation  slide  into  the  current  they 
flowed  in,  as  easily  as  if  he  had  never  been 
nearer  college  than  we  ourselves.  With  my 
father  he  talked  about  the  price  of  produce,  the 
various  processes  and  improvements  in  agri- 
culture, and  the  politics  of  the  day,  and  such 
other  topics  as  would  be  likely  to  interest  a 
farmer  so  far  in  the  country.  And  those 
topics,  indeed,  were  not  a  few.  Some  students 
would  have  sat  in  dignified  or  rather  dumpish 
silence,  and  have  gone  to  bed  by  mid-evening, 
simply  because  those  who  sat  with  them  could 
not  discourse  on  those  deep  things  of  science, 
and  lofty  matters  of  literature,  which  were  par- 
ticularly interesting  to  themselves.  With  my 
mother    Mr.    Ellis    talked    at    first    about    her 


132  The  District  School 

children.  He  patted  a  little  brother  on  his 
cheek,  took  a  sister  on  his  knee,  and  inquired 
the  baby's  name.  Then  he  drew  forth  a 
housewifely  strain  concerning  various  matters 
in  country  domestic  life.  Of  me  he  inquired 
respecting  my  studies  at  school  years  past ;  and 
even  condescended  to  speak  of  his  own  boyhood 
and  youth,  and  of  the  sports  as  well  as  the  duties 
of  school.  The  fact  is,  that  Mr.  Ellis  had 
always  lived  in  the  country*  till  three  years 
past  j  his  mind  was  full  of  rural  remembrances ; 
and  he  knew  just  how  to  take  us  to  be  agree- 
able himself,  and  to  elicit  entertainment  in 
return. 

Mr.  Ellis  showed  himself  at  home  in  school, 
as  well  as  at  the  domestic  fireside.  He  was 
perfectly  familiar  with  his  duties,  as  custom  had 
prescribed  them,  but  he  did  not  abide  altogether 
by  the  old  usages.  He  spent  much  time  in 
explaining  those  rules  in  arithmetic  and  gram- 
mar, and  those  passages  in  the  spelling-book, 
with  which  we  had  hitherto  lumbered  our 
memories. 

This  teacher  introduced  a  new  exercise  into 
our  school,  that  we  had  never  thought  of  before 
as  being  possible  to  ourselves.  It  was  compo- 
sition. We  hardly  knew  what  to  make  of  it. 
To  write  —  to  put  sentence  after  sentence  Irke 


As  It  Was  133 

a  newspaper,  a  book,  or  a  sermon  —  oh  !  we 
could  not  do  this ;  we  could  not  think  of  such 
a  thing ;  indeed,  it  was  an  impossibility.  But 
we  must  try,  at  any  rate.  The  subject  given 
out  for  this  novel  use  of  thought  and  pen  was 
friendship.  Friendship  —  what  had  we  to  say 
on  this  subject  ?  We  could  feel  on  it,  perhaps, 
especially  those  of  us  who  had  read  a  novel 
or  two,  and  had  dreamed  of  eternal  friendship. 
But  we  had  not  a  single  idea.  Friendship  !  oh ! 
it  is  a  delightful  thing!  This,  or  something 
similar,  was  about  all  we  poor  creatures  could 
think  of.  What  a  spectacle  of  wretchedness 
did  we  present !  A  stranger  would  have  sup- 
posed us  all  smitten  with  the  toothache,  by  the 
agony  expressed  in  the  face.  One  poor  girl 
put  her  head  down  into  a  corner,  and  cried 
till  the  master  excused  her.  And,  finally,  find- 
ing that  neither  smiles  nor  frowns  would  put 
ideas  into  our  heads,  he  let  us  go  for  that 
week. 

In  about  a  fortnight,  to  our  horror,  the  exer- 
cise was  proposed  again.  But  it  was  only  to 
write  a  letter.  Any  one  could  do  as  much  as 
this,  the  master  said;  for  almost  every  one  had 
occasion  to  do  it  in  the  course  of  life.  Indeed, 
we  thought,  on  the  whole,  that  we  could  write  a 
letter,  so  at  it  we  went  with  considerable  alacrity. 


134  The  District  School 

But  our  attempts  at  the  epistolary  were  nothing 
like  those  spirited,  and  even  witty,  products  of 
thought  which  used  ever  to  be  flying  from  seat 
to  seat  in  the  shape  of  billets.  The  sprightly 
fancy  and  the  gushing  heart  seemed  to  have 
been  chilled  and  deadened  by  the  reflection  that 
a  letter  must  be  written,  and  the  master  must  see 
it.  These  epistolary  compositions  generally  be- 
gan, continued,  and  closed  all  in  the  same  way, 
as  if  all  had  got  the  same  leceipt  from  their 
grandmothers  for  letter  writing.  They  mostly 
commenced  in  this  manner :  "  Dear  friend,  I 
take  my  pen  in  hand  to  inform  you  that  I  am 
well,  and  hope  you  are  enjoying  the  same  bless- 
ing." Then  there  would  be  added,  perhaps, 
"  We  have  a  very  good  schoolmaster ;  have  you 
a  good  one  ?  How  long  has  your  school  got  to 
keep  ?  We  have  had  a  terribly  stormy  time 
on't,"  &c.  Mark  Martin  addressed  the  master 
in  his  epistle.  What  its  contents  were  I  could 
not  find  out ;  but  I  saw  Mr.  Ellis  read  it.  At 
first  he  looked  grave,  as  at  the  assurance  of  the 
youth ;  then  a  little  severe,  as  if  his  dignity 
was  outraged ;  but  in  a  moment  he  smiled,  and 
finally  he  almost  burst  out  with  laughter  at  some 
closing  witticism. 

Mark's  was  the  only   composition  that  had 
any  nature  and  soul  in  it.     He  wrote  what  he 


As  It  Was  135 

thought,  instead  of  thinking  what  to  write,  like 
the  rest  of  us,  who,  in  the  effort,  thought  just 
nothing  at  all ;  for  we  wrote  words  which  we 
had  seen  written  a  hundred  times  before. 

Mr.  Ellis  succeeded  in  delivering  us  from  our 
stale  and  flat  formalities  before  he  had  done. 
He  gave  us  no  more  such  abstract  and  lack-idea 
subjects  as  friendship.  He  learned  better  how 
to  accommodate  the  theme  to  the  youthful  mind. 
We  were  set  to  describe  what  we  had  seen  with 
our  eyes,  heard  with  our  ears,  and  what  had 
particularly  interested  our  feelings  at  one  time 
and  another.  One  boy  described  the  process 
of  cider-making.  Another  gave  an  account  of  a 
squirrel-hunt ;  another  of  a  great  husking;  each 
of  which  had  been  witnessed  the  autumn  before. 
The  girls  described  certain  domestic  operations. 
One,  I  remember,  gave  quite  an  amusing  account 
of  the  coming  and  going,  and  final  tarrying,  of 
her  mother's  soap.  Another  penned  a  sprightly 
dialogue,  supposed  to  have  taken  place  between 
two  sisters  on  the  question,  which  should  go  a 
visiting  with  mother,  and  which  should  stay  at 
home  and  "  take  care  of  the  things." 

The  second  winter  (for  he  taught  two),  Mr. 
Ellis  occasionally  proposed  more  abstract  sub- 
jects, and  such  as  required  more  thinking  and 
reasoning,  but  still,  such  as  were  likely  to  be 


136  The  District  School 

interesting,  and  on  which  he  knew  his  scholars 
to  possess  at  least  a  few  ideas. 

I  need  not  say  how  popular  Mr.  Ellis  was  in 
the  district.  He  was  decidedly  the  best  school- 
master I  ever  went  to,  and  he  was  the  last. 

I  have  given  him  a  place  here,  not  because 
he  is  to  be  classed  with  his  predecessors  who 
taught  the  district  school  as  it  was^  but  because 
he  closed  the  series  of  my  own  instructors 
there,  and  was  the  last,  mo^over,  who  occupied 
the  old  school-house.  He  commenced  a  new 
era  in  our  district. 

Before  closing,  I  must  give  one  necessary 
hint.  Let  it  not  be  inferred  from  this  narrative 
of  my  own  particular  experience,  that  the  best 
teachers  of  district  schools  are  to  be  found  in 
college  only.  The  very  next  winter,  the  school 
was  blessed  with  an  instructor  even  superior  to 
Mr.  Ellis,  although  he  was  not  a  collegian. 
Mr.  Henry,  however,  had  well  disciplined  and 
informed  his  mind,  and  was,  moreover,  an 
experienced  teacher.  I  was  not  one  of  his 
pupils ;  but  I  was  in  the  neighborhood,  and 
knew  of  his  methods,  his  faithfulness,  and  suc- 
cess. His  tall,  spare,  stooping,  and  dyspeptic 
form  is  now  distinctly  before  my  mind's  eye. 
I  see  him  wearied  with  incessant  exertion, 
taking  his  way  homeward  at  the  close  of  the 


As  It  Was  137 

afternoon  school.  His  pockets  are  filled  with 
compositions,  to  be  looked  over  in  private. 
There  are  school-papers  in  his  hat  too.  A 
large  bundle  of  writing-books  is  under  his  arm. 
Through  the  long  evening,  and  in  the  little 
leisure  of  the  morning,  I  see  him  still  hard  at 
work  for  the  good  of  his  pupils.  Perhaps  he  is 
surrounded  by  a  circle  of  the  larger  scholars, 
whom  he  has  invited  to  spend  the  evening  with 
him,  to  receive  a  more  thorough  explanation  of 
some  branch  or  item  of  study  than  there  was 
time  for  in  school.  But  stop —  Mr.  Henry  die? 
not  keep  the  district  school  as  it  was — why, 
then,  am  I  describing  him  ? 


138  The  District  School 


Chapter   XXI 

The  Examination  at  the  Closing  of  the 
School 

^  I  ^HE  district  school  as  it  was,  generally 
-*-  closed,  in  the  winter,  •with  what  was 
called  an  "  Examination."  This  was  usually 
attended  by  the  minister  of  the  town,  the  com- 
mittee who  engaged  the  teacher,  and  such  of 
the  parents  as  chose  to  come  in.  Very  few, 
however,  were  sufficiently  interested  in  the  im- 
provement of  their  children,  to  spend  three 
uncomfortable  hours  in  the  hot  and  crowded 
school-room,  listening  to  the  same  dull  round  of 
words,  year  after  year.  If  the  school  had  been 
under  the  care  of  a  good  instructor,  all  was  well 
of  course ;  if  a  poor  one,  it  was  too  late  to  help 
it.  Or,  perhaps,  they  thought  they  could  not 
afford  the  time  on  a  fair  afternoon ;  and,  if  the 
weather  was  stormy,  it  was  rather  more  agreea- 
ble to  stay  at  home ;  besides,  "  Nobody  else  will 
be  there,  and  why  should  I  go  ? "  Whether 
such  were  the  reflections  of  parents  or  not, 
scarcely  more  than  half  of  them,  at  most,  ever 


As  It  Was  139 

attended  the  examination.  I  do  not  recollect 
that  the  summer  school  was  examined  at  all. 
I  know  not  the  reason  of  this  omission,  unless 
it  was  that  such  had  been  the  custom  from  time 
immemorial. 

We  shall  suppose  it  to  be  the  last  day  of  the 
winter  school.  The  scholars  have  on  their 
better  clothes,  if  their  parents  are  somewhat 
particular,  or  if  the  every-day  dress  "  looks  quite 
too  bad."  The  young  ladies,  especially,  wear 
the  next  best  gown,  and  a  more  cleanly  and 
tastefully  worked  neckerchief.  Their  hair  dis- 
plays more  abundant  curls  and  a  more  elaborate 
adjustment. 

It  is  noon.  The  school-room  is  undergoing 
the  operation  of  being  swept  as  clean  as  a  worn- 
out  broom  in  the  hands  of  one  girl,  and  hem- 
lock twigs  in  the  hands  of  others,  will  permit. 
Whew  — -  what  a  dust  !  Alas  for  Mary's  cape, 
so  snow-white  and  smooth  in  the  morning ! 
Hannah's  curls,  which  lay  so  close  to  each 
other,  and  so  pat  and  still  on  her  temples,  have 
got  loose  by  the  exercise,  and  have  stretched 
themselves  into  the  figure  of  half-straightened 
cork-screws,  nearly  unfit  for  service.  The  spirit 
of  the  house-wife  dispossesses  the  bland  and  smil- 
ing spirit  of  the  school-girl.  The  masculine  can- 
didates for  matrimony  can  now  give  a  shrewd 


140  The  District  School 

guess  who  are  endued  with  an  innate  propensity  to 
scold ;  who  will  be  Xantippes  to  their  husbands, 
should  they  ever  get  their  Cupid's  nests  made 
up  again  so  as  to  catch  them.  "  Be  still,  Sam, 
bringing  in  snow,"  screams  Mary.  "  Get  away 
boys,  off  out  doors,  or  I'll  sweep  you  into  the 
fire,"  snaps  out  Hannah,  as  she  brushes  the 
urchins'  legs  with  her  hemlock.  *' There,  take 
that,"  screeches  Margaret,  as  she  gives  a  pro- 
voking lubber  a  knock  with  a  broom  handle ; 
*'  there,  take  that,  and  keep  your  wet,  dirty  feet 
down  off  the  seats." 

The  sweeping  and  scolding  are  at  length  done. 
The  girls  are  now  brushing  their  clothes,  by 
flapping  handkerchiefs  over  themselves  and  each 
other.  The  dust  is  subsiding;  one  can  almost 
breathe  again.  The  master  has  come,  all  so 
prim,  with  his  best  coat  and  a  clean  cravat ; 
and,  may  be,  a  collar  is  stiff  and  high  above  it. 
His  hair  is  combed  in  its  genteelest  curvatures. 
He  has  returned  earlier  than  usual,  and  the  boys 
are  cut  short  in  their  play,  —  the  glorious  fun 
of  the  last  noon  time.  But  they  must  all  come 
in.  But  what  shall  the  visitors  sit  on  ?  "  Go 
up  to  Capt.  Clark's,  and  borrow  some  chairs," 
says  the  master.  Half  a  dozen  boys  are  off  in 
a  moment,  and  next,  more  than  half  a  dozen 
chairs    are    sailing,    swinging,    and    clattering 


As  It  Was  141 

through  the  air,  and  set  in  a  row  round  the 
spelling-floor. 

The  school  are  at  length  all  seated  at  their 
books,  in  palpitating  expectation.  The  master 
makes  a  speech  on  the  importance  of  speaking 
up,  "loud  and  distinct,"  and  of  refraining  from 
whispering,  and  all  other  things  well  known  to 
be  forbidden.  The  writing-books  and  ciphering 
manuscripts  are  gathered  and  piled  on  the  desk, 
or  the  bench  near  it.  "Where  is  your  manu- 
script, Margaret  ?  "  "  I  carried  it  home  last 
night."  "  Carried  it  home !  —  what's  that  for  ? " 
"  'Cause  I  was  ashamed  on't  —  I  haven't  got 
half  so  far  in  'rethmetic  as  the  rest  of  the  girls 
who  cipher,  I've  had  to  stay  at  home  so  much." 

A  heavy  step  is  heard  in  the  entry.  All  is 
hushed  within.  They  do  nothing  but  breathe. 
The  door  opens  —  it  is  nobody  but  one  of  the 
largest  boys  who  went  home  at  noon.  There 
arg.  sleigh-bells  approaching,  —  hark,  do  they 
stop  ?  yes,  up  in  Capt.  Clark's  shed.  Now 
there  is  another  tread,  then  a  distinct  and  con- 
fident rap.  The  master  opens  the  door,  and 
the  minister  salutes  him,  and,  advancing,  receives 
the  simultaneous  bows  and  courtesies  of  the 
awed  ranks  in  front.  He  is  seated  in  the  most 
conspicuous  and  honorable  place,  perhaps  in  the 
magisterial  desk.     Then  some  of  the  neighbors 


142  The  District  School 

scatter  in,  and  receive  the  same  homage,  though 
it  is  proiFered  with  a  more  careless  action  and 
aspect. 

Now  commences  the  examination.  First,  the 
younger  classes  read  and  spell.  Observe  that 
little  fellow,  as  he  steps  from  his  seat  to  take 
his  place  on  the  floor.  It  is  his  day  of  public 
triumph,  for  he  is  at  the  head  j  he  has  been 
there  the  most  times,  and  a  ninepence  swings  by 
a  flaxen  string  from  his  neA.  His  skin  wants 
letting  out,  it  will  hardly  hold  the  important 
young  gentleman.  His  mother  told  him  this 
morning,  when  he  left  home,  "  to  speak  up  like 
a  minister,"  and  his  shrill  oratory  is  almost  at 
the  very  pinnacle  of  utterance. 

The  third  class  have  read.  They  are  now 
spelling.  They  are  famous  orthographers ;  the 
mightiest  words  of  the  spelling  columns  do  not 
intimidate  them.  Then  come  the  numbers,  the 
abbreviations,  and  the  punctuation.  Some  of  the 
little  throats  are  almost  choked  by  the  hurried 
ejection  of  big  words  and  stringy  sentences. 

The  master  has  gone  through  with  the  sev- 
eral accomplishments  of  the  class.  They  are 
about  to  take  their  seats.  "  Please  to  let  them 
stand  a  few  moments  longer,  I  should  like  to 
put  out  a  few  words  to  them,  myself,"  says  the 
minister.     Now  look  out.     They  expect  words 


As  It  Was  143 

as  long  as  their  finger,  from  the  widest  columns 
of  the  spelling-book,  or  perhaps  such  as  are 
found  only  in  the  dictionary.  "Spell  wrist" 
says  he  to  the  little  sweller  at  the  head.  "  O, 
what  an  easy  word  !  "  r-i-s-t,  wrist.  It  is  not 
right.  The  next,  the  next  —  they  all  try,  or 
rather  do  not  attempt  the  word ;  for  if  r-i-s-t  does 
not  spell  wrist,  they  cannot  conceive  what  does. 
"  Spell  gown,  Anna."  G-o-u-n-d.  "  O  no,  it  is 
gown,  not  gound.  The  next  try."  None  of  them 
can  spell  this.  He  then  puts  out  penknije,  which 
is  spelt  without  the  k,  and  then  andiron,  which 
his  honor  at  the  head  rattles  off  in  this  way, 
"  h-a-n-d  hand,  i-u-r-n  hand  iurn." 

The  poor  little  things  are  confused  as  well 
as  discomfited.  They  hardly  know  what  it 
means.  The  teacher  is  disconcerted  and  mor- 
tified. It  dawns  on  him,  that,  while  he  has 
been  following  the  order  of  the  book,  and  prid- 
ing himself  that  so  young  scholars  can  spell 
such  monstrous  great  words,  —  words  which 
perhaps  they  will  never  use,  they  cannot  spell 
the  names  of  the  most  familiar  objects.  The 
minister  has  taught  him  a  lesson. 

The  writing-books  are  now  examined.  The 
mighty  pile  is  lifted  from  the  desk,  and  scat- 
tered along  through  the  hands  of  the  visitors. 
Some  are    commended    for    the   neatness    with 


144  The  District  School 

which  they  have  kept  their  manuscripts ;  some, 
for  improvement  in  writing ;  of  some,  probably 
of  the  majority,  is  said  nothing  at  all. 

"  Whew !  "  softly  breathed  the  minister,  as 
he  opened  a  writing-book,  some  of  whose 
pages  were  a  complete  ink-souse.  He  looked 
on  the  outside,  and  Simon  Patch  was  the  name 
that  lay  sprawling  in  the  dirt  which  adhered  to 
the  newspaper  cover.  Simon  spied  his  book  in 
the  reverend  gentleman's  hands,  and  noticed  his 
queer  stare  at  it.  The  minister  looked  up; 
Simon  shrunk  and  looked  down,  for  he  felt  that 
his  eye  was  about  to  seek  him.  He  gazed  in- 
tensely in  the  book  before  him  without  seeing  a 
word,  at  the  same  time  earnestly  sucking  the 
pointed  lapel  of  his  Sunday  coat.  But  Simon 
escaped  without  any  audible  rebuke. 

Now  comes  the  arithmetical  examination ; 
that  is,  the  proficients  in  this  branch  are  re- 
quired to  say  the  rules.  Alas  me  !  I  had  no 
reputation  at  all  in  this  science.  I  could  not 
repeat  more  than  half  the  rules  I  had  been  over, 
nor  more  than  the  half  of  that  half  in  the  words 
of  the  book,  as  others  could.  What  shame  and 
confusion  of  face  were  mine  on  the  last  day, 
when  we  came  to  be  questioned  in  Arithmetic  ! 
But  when  Mr.  Ellis  had  his  examination,  I 
looked   up  a   little,  and   felt  that   I  was  not  so 


As  It  Was 


H5 


utterly  incompetent  as  my  previous  teachers, 
together  with  myself,  had  supposed. 

Then  came  the  display  in  Grammar,  our 
knowledge  of  which  is  especially  manifested  in 
parsing.  A  piece  is  selected  which  we  have 
parsed  in  the  course  of  the  school,  and  on  which 
we  are  again  drilled  so  as  to  become  as  familiar 
with  the  parts  of  speech,  and  the  governments 
and  agreements  of  which,  as  we  are  with  the 
buttons  and  button-holes  of  our  jackets.  We 
appear,  of  course,  amazingly  expert. 

We  exhibited  our  talent  at  Reading,  likewise, 
in  passages  selected  for  the  occasion,  and 
conned  over,  and  read  over,  until  the  dullest 
might  call  all  the  words  right,  and  the  most 
careless  mind  all  the  "  stops  and  marks." 

But  this  examination  was  a  stupid  piece  of 
business  to  me.  The  expectation  and  prepara- 
tion were  somewhat  exhilarating,  as  I  trust  has 
been  perceived ;  but,  as  soon  as  the  antici- 
pated scene  had  commenced,  it  grew  dull,  and 
still  more  dull. 

But  let  us  finish  this  examination,  now  we 
are  about  it.  Suppose  it  finished  then.  The 
minister  remarks  to  the  teacher,  "Your  school 
appears  very  well,  in  general,  sir " ;  then  he 
makes  a  speech,  then  a  prayer,  and  his  business 
is  done.     So  is  that  of  schoolmaster  and  school. 


146 


The  District  School 


"  You  are  dismissed,"  is  uttered  for  the  last 
time  this  season.  It  is  almost  dark,  and  but 
little  time  left  for  a  last  trip-up,  snow-ball,  or 
slide  down  hill.  The  little  boys  and  girls,  with 
their  books  and  dinner  baskets,  ride  home  with 
their  parents,  if  they  happen  to  be  there.  The 
larger  ones  have  some  last  words  and  laughs, 
together,  and  then  they  leave  the  Old  School- 
house  till  December  comes  round  again. 


As  It  Was  147 


Chapter    XXII 

The  Old  School-house  again — its  Ap- 
pearance the  Last  Winter  —  why  so 
long  occupied  —  a  New  One  at  last 

"|\  yTY  first  chapter  was  about  the  Old  School- 
-*-*-■"  house:  so  shall  be  my  last.  The  declin- 
ing condition  in  which  we  first  found  it,  has 
waxed  into  exceeding  infirmity  by  the  changes 
of  thirteen  years.  After  the  summer  school 
succeeding  my  thirteenth  winter  of  district  edu- 
cation, it  was  sold  and  carried  piece-meal  away, 
ceasing  forever  from  the  form  and  name  of 
school-house. 

I  would  have  my  readers  see  how  the  long- 
used  and  hard-used  fabric  appeared  and  how  near 
to  dissolution  it  came  before  the  district  could 
agree  to  accommodate  their  children  with  a 
new  one. 

We  will  now  suppose  it  is  my  last  winter  at 
our  school.  Here  we  are  inside,  let  us  look 
around  a  little. 

The  long  writing-benches  arrest  our  atten- 
tion as  forcibly  as  anything  in  sight.       They 


148  The  District  School 

were  originally  of  substantial  plank,  an  inch 
and  a  half  thick.  And  it  is  well  that  they  were 
thus  massive.  No  board  of  ordinary  measure 
would  have  stood  the  hackings  and  hewings, 
the  scrapings  and  borings,  which  have  been  in- 
flicted on  those  sturdy  plank.  In  the  first  place, 
the  edge  next  the  scholar  is  notched  from  end 
to  end,  presenting  an  appearance  something 
like  a  broken-toothed  mill-saw.  Upon  the 
upper  surface,  there  has  bean  carved,  or  pic- 
tured with  ink,  the  likeness  of  all  things  in  the 
heavens  and  on  earth  ever  beheld  by  a  country 
school-boy ;  and  sundry  guesses  at  things  he 
never  did  see.  Fifty  years  has  this  poor  timber 
been  subjected  to  the  knives  of  idlers,  and 
fully  the  fourth  of  fifty  I  have  hacked  on  it 
myself;  and  by  this  last  winter  their  width  has 
become  diminished  nearly  one-half.  There  are, 
moreover,  innumerable  writings  on  the  benches 
and  ceilings.  On  the  boys'  side  were  scribbled 
the  names  of  the  Hannahs,  the  Marys,  and  the 
Harriets,  toward  whom  young  hearts  were  be- 
ginning to  soften  in  the  first  gentle  meltings 
of  love.  One  would  suppose  that  a  certain 
Harriet  A.,  was  the  most  distinguished  belle  the 
district  has  ever  produced,  from  the  frequency 
of  her  name  on  bench  and  wall. 

The  cracked  and  patched  and  puttied  windows 


As  It  Was  149 

are  now  still  more  diversified  by  here  and  there 
a  square  of  board  instead  of  glass. 

The  master's  desk  is  in  pretty  good  order. 
The  first  one  was  knocked  over  in  a  noon-time 
scuffle,  and  so  completely  shattered  as  to  render 
a  new  one  necessary.  This  has  stood  about 
ten  years. 

As  to  the  floor,  had  it  been  some  winters  we 
could  not  have  seen  it  without  considerable 
scraping  away  of  dust  and  various  kinds  of  litter ; 
for  a  broom  was  not  always  provided,  and  boys 
would  not  wallow  in  the  snow  after  hemlock, 
and  sweeping  could  not  so  well  be  done  with  a 
stick.  This  winter,  however,  Mr.  Ellis  takes 
care  that  the  floor  shall  be  visible  the  greater 
part  of  the  time.  It  is  rough  with  sundry  patches 
of  board  nailed  over  chinks  and  knot-holes  made 
by  the  wear  and  tear  of  years. 

Now  we  will  look  at  the  fire-place.  One 
end  of  the  hearth  has  sunk  an  inch  and  a  half 
below  the  floor.  There  are  crevices  between 
some  of  the  tiles,  into  which  coals  of  fire  some- 
times drop  and  make  the  boys  spring  for  snow. 
The  andirons  have  each  lost  a  fore-foot,  and  the 
office  of  the  important  member  is  supplied  by 
bricks  which  had  been  dislodged  from  the  chim- 
ney-top. The  fire-shovel  has  acquired  by  acci- 
dent or  age  a  venerable  stoop.     The  tongs  can 


150  The  District  School 

no  longer  be  called  a  pair,  for  the  lack  of  one  of 
the  fellow-limbs.  The  bar  of  iron  running  from 
jamb  to  jamb  in  front,  —  how  it  is  bent  and 
sinking  in  the  middle,  by  the  pressure  of 
the  sagging  fabric  above !  Indeed  the  whole 
chimney  is  quite  ruinous.  The  bricks  are  loose 
here  and  there  in  the  vicinity  of  the  fire-place ; 
and  the  chimney-top  has  lost  so  much  of  its 
cement  that  every  high  wind  dashes  off  a  brick, 
rolling  and  sliding  on  the  ro«f,  and  then  tum- 
bling to  the  ground,  to  the  danger  of  cracking 
whatever  heedless  skull  may  happen  in  the 
way. 

The  window-shutters,  after  having  shattered 
the  glass  by  the  slams  of  many  years,  have 
broken  their  own  backs  at  length.  Some  have 
fallen  to  the  ground,  and  are  going  the  way  of 
all  things  perishable.  Others  hang  by  a  single 
hinge,  which  is  likely  to  give  way  at  the  next 
high  gale,  and  consign  the  dangling  shutter  to 
the  company  of  its  fellows  below. 

The  clapboards  are  here  and  there  loose,  and 
dropping  one  by  one  from  their  fastenings.  One 
of  these  thin  and  narrow  appendages,  sticking  by 
a  nail  at  one  end,  and  loose  and  slivered  at  the 
other,  sends  forth  the  most  ear-rending  music  to 
the  skillful  touches  of  the  North-west.  Indeed, 
so  many  are   the  avenues   by  which  the  wind 


As  It  Was  151 

passes  in  and  out,  and  so  various  are  the  notes, 
according  as  the  rushing  air  vibrates  a  splinter, 
makes  the  window  clatter,  whistles  through  a 
knot-hole,  and  rumbles  like  a  big  bass  down  the 
chimney,  that  the  edifice  may  be  imagined  up- 
roarious winter's  Panharmonicon,  played  upon 
in  turn  by  all  the  winds. 

Such  is  the  condition  of  the  Old  School-house, 
supposing  it  to  be  just  before  we  leave  it  forever, 
at  the  close  of  my  thirteenth  and  last  winter  at 
our  district  school.  It  has  been  resorted  to 
summer  after  summer,  and  winter  after  winter, 
although  the  observation  of  parents  and  the  sen- 
sations of  children  have  long  given  evidence 
that  it  ought  to  be  abandoned. 

At  every  meeting  on  school  affairs  that  has 
been  held  for  several  years,  the  question  of  a 
new  school-house  has  been  discussed.  All  agree 
on  the  urgent  need  of  one,  and  all  are  willing  to 
contribute  their  portion  of  the  wherewith ;  but 
when  they  attempt  to  decide  on  its  location, 
then  their  harmonious  action  is  at  an  end.  All 
know  that  this  high  bleak  hill,  the  coldest  spot 
within  a  mile,  is  not  the  place;  it  would  be 
stupid  folly  to  put  it  here.  At  the  foot  of  the 
hill,  on  either  side,  is  as  snug  and  pleasant  a 
spot  as  need  be.  But  the  East-enders  will  not 
permit  its  location  on  the  opposite  side,  and  the 


152  The  District  School 

West-enders  are  as  obstinate  on  their  part.  Each 
division  declares  that  it  will  secede  and  form  a 
separate  district  should  it  be  carried  further  off, 
although  in  this  case  they  must  put  up  with 
much  cheaper  teachers,  or  much  less  schooling, 
or  submit  to  twice  the  taxes. 

Thus  they  have  tossed  the  ball  of  discussion, 
and  sometimes  hurled  that  of  contention,  back 
and  forth,  year  after  year,  to  just  about  as  much 
profit  as  their  children  have  ^ung  snow-balls  in 
play,  or  chips  and  cakes  of  ice  when  provoked. 
At  length.  Time,  the  final  decider  of  all  things 
material,  wearied  with  their  jars,  is  likely  to  end 
them  by  tumbling  the  old  ruin  about  their 
ears. 

Months  have  passed ;  it  is  near  winter  again. 
There  is  great  rejoicing  among  the  children, 
satisfaction  among  the  parents,  harmony  between 
the  two  Ends.  A  new  school-house  has  been 
erected  at  last  —  indeed  it  has.  A  door  of 
reconciliation  and  mutual  adjustment  was  opened 
in  the  following  manner. 

That  powerful-to-do,  but  tardy  personage,  the 
Public,  began  to  be  weary  of  ascending  and 
descending  Capt.  Clark's  hill.  He  began  to  cal- 
culate the  value  of  time  and  horse-flesh.  One 
day   it    occurred    to   him    that   it  would   be  as 


As  It  Was  153 

"  cheap,  and  indeed  much  cheaper,"  to  go  round 
this  hill  at  the  bottom,  than  to  go  round  it  over 
the  top ;  for  it  is  just  as  far  from  side  to  side  of 
a  ball  in  one  direction  as  in  another,  and  this  was 
a  case  somewhat  similar.  He  perceived  that 
there  would  be  no  more  lost  in  the  long  run  by 
the  expense  of  carrying  the  road  an  eighth  of  a 
mile  to  the  south,  and  all  on  level  ground,  than 
there  would  be  by  still  wasting  the  breath  of 
horse  and  the  patience  of  man  in  panting  up  and 
tottering  down  this  monstrous  hill.  It  seemed 
as  if  he  had  been  blind  for  years,  not  to  have 
conceived  of  the  improvement  before.  No  time 
was  to  be  lost  now.  He  lifted  up  his  many- 
tongued  voice,  and  put  forth  his  many-handed 
strength ;  and,  in  the  process  of  a  few  months, 
a  road  was  constructed,  curving  round  the  south 
side  of  the  aforesaid  hill,  which,  after  all,  proved 
to  be  but  a  few  rods  longer  from  point  to  point 
than  the  other. 

The  district  were  no  longer  at  variance  about 
the  long-needed  edifice.  The  aforementioned 
improvement  had  scarcely  been  decided  on,  be- 
fore every  one  perceived  how  the  matter  might 
be  settled.  A  school-meeting  was  soon  called, 
and  it  was  unanimously  agreed  to  erect  a  new 
school-house  on  the  new  road,  almost  exactly 
opposite  the  old  spot,  and  as  equidistant  from 


154 


The  District  School 


the  two  Ends,  it  was  beheved,  as  the  equator  is 
from  the  poles. 

Here  Mr.  Henry  taught  the  District  School 
somewhat  as  it  should  be ;  and  it  has  never  since 
been  kept  as  it  was. 


A    SUPPLICATION    TO    THE 

PEOPLE    OF    THE    UNITED 

STATES 


A  Supplication  157 


A  Supplication 

A  BOUT  sixty  thousand  Slaves^  owned  by  the 
'^  ^  People  of  the  United  States^  make  the  fol- 
lowing supplication  to  their  masters,  not  for 
emancipation^  but  for  the  amelioration  of  the  con- 
dition of  certain  individuals  of  their  race. 

Most  sovereign,  rightful,  and  excellent 
Masters,  —  We  are  the  English  Language^  — 
your  lawful  and  perpetual  bond-servants,  whose 
names  and  origin,  characters  and  duties,  are  so 
faithfully  exhibited,  in  Noah  Webster's  great 
Dictionary.  By  far  the  largest  part  of  us  have 
received  nothing  but  the  kindest  usage  from  our 
owners,  from  time  immemorial.  Some  thou- 
sands of  us,  indeed,  were  it  possible,  might  die 
of  having  nothing  to  do  but  sleep,  shut  up  in 
the  dormitory  of  the  Dictionary,  or  in  the  com- 
position of  some  most  learned,  or  most  silly 
book,  which  the  mass  of  the  people  never  open. 
But  of  this  we  do  not  complain.  Nor  do  we 
account  it  much  of  an  evil,  that  certain  Yankees 
make  us  weary,  with  the  monstrously  long  drawl 
with  which  they  articulate  us  into  use.     Nor  do 


158  A  Supplication 

we  cry  out  against  the  painful  clipping,  cutting- 
up,  and  shattering-to-pieces,  given  us  by  the 
African  race;  —  for  we  serve  them  as  faithfully 
as  we  do  their  white  fellow-mortals. 

But  now  we  humbly  pray  that  you  will  hear 
what  we  do  complain  of.  We  complain,  that 
certain  of  our  brethren  are  exceedingly  abused, 
and  made  wretched,  by  some  thousands,  and 
perhaps  millions,  of  our  owners.  Their  piteous 
groans  have  shocked  our  earsf —  their  unretrieved 
sufFerings  have  pained  our  sympathizing  hearts, 
for  many  years.  We  can  endure  no  longer;  — 
we  must  speak.  Your  ancient  servants  come, 
then,  supplicating  you  to  take  measures  for  the 
relief  of  the  sufFerings  of  the  individuals  of  our 
number,  whose  names  and  particular  subjects  of 
complaint  shall  now  be  enumerated,  proceeding 
in  alphabetical  order. 

Arithmetic^  —  that  accurate  calculator,  indis- 
pensable to  this  mighty  and  money-making  na- 
tion, grievously  complains  that  he  is  obliged  to 
work  for  thousands  without  the  use  of  A-head, 
and  deprived  of  one  of  his  two  i's.  Here  is  a 
picture  of  his  mutilated  form, —  Rethmetic ! 

Attacked^  —  an  important  character,  that  fig- 
ures so  gloriously  in  military  dispatches,  and  is 
so  necessary  in  medical  reports,  —  is  forced,  by 
many,  to  the  use  of  /,  more  than  his  constitution 


A  Supplication  159 

will  admit.  He  cannot  perform  his  necessary 
business,  you  know,  without  the  use  of  /,  twice 
during  every  job,  —  but  to  have  it  forced  into 
him  three  times,  causes  a  change  in  his  constitu- 
tion and  appearance,  which  he  cannot  comforta- 
bly bear.  See  how  Attacked  is  altered  by  more 
/  than  he  wants,  —  Attack  Ted. 

There  is  another  poor  fellow,  who  has  a  simi- 
lar affliction,  —  Across.  See  what  a  spectacle  a 
little  t  makes  of  him,  —  Acrosst. 

That  most  excellent  friend  and  profitable 
servant  of  the  Workingmen's  party,  Earn^ 
complains  that  those  whom  he  serves  the  best, 
deprive  him  of  what  little  €*$  his  laborious  con- 
dition demands.  See  what  Earn  is  brought  to 
by  such  hard  treatment,  —  Aim. 

That  necessary  attendant  on  every  messenger, 
—  Errand^  is  in  the  same  state  of  suffering,  from 
the  same  cause.      Errand  is  made  Arrant. 

After  —  is  willing  to  linger  behind  everybody 
else  in  his  business ;  but  it  is  a  miserable  fate 
to  be  deprived  of  so  large  a  portion  of  his  small 
energy  in  this  way,  —  Arter. 

"  Go  arter  the  cows,  Tom,"  says  Ma'am  Milk- 
moolly.  "  I  move  that  we  adjourn  to  arternoon" 
says  Squire  Goodman,  in  the  Legislature. 

Hear,  also,  how  that  entirely  different  charac- 
ter, and  bold  goer-ahead,  growls  as  he  passes  on, 


i6o  A  Supplication 

—  Before.  "  I  will  go  forward  and  do  my  duty 
as  long  as  any  part  of  me  is  left  sound ;  but 
my  well-being  is  dreadfully  affected  by.  a  great 
many  people  whom  I  serve,  —  as  you  cannot 
but  perceive," — Afore. 

Bellows.,  —  that  excellent   household   servant, 

—  says  he  has  often  had  his  nose  stopped  up  by 
ashes,  and  has  wheezed  with  the  asthma  for 
months,  but  all  these  afflictions  are  nothing  to 
usage  like  this,  —  Belluses.    • 

Bachelor  —  is  exceedingly  sensitive  about  what 
is  said  of  him  in  the  presence  of  the  ladies.  He 
is  shockingly  mortified  at  being  called  Batchelder, 
To  be  sure,  he  is  a  h?iX.c\\-elder  than  he  ought  to 
be,  regarding  the  comfort  of  maidens  and  the 
good  of  his  country  ;  but  he  is  an  odd  fellow, 
and  wants  his  own  way.  He  is  almost  tempted 
to  destroy  himself  by  taking  that  deadly  poison 
to  his  nature,  —  a  wife.,  —  in  order  to  be  re- 
lieved from  his  mortification. 

Boil — is  at  the  hot  duty  of  keeping  the  pot 
going,  and  sometimes  it  is  hard  work  ;  however, 
he  complains  not  of  this  ;  but  poor  Boil  has  had 
the  jaundice,  and  all  other  liver  complaints,  for 
years,  and  is  blubbering  like  a  baby  —  all  in  con- 
sequence of  this,  viz.,  about  nine-tenths  of  the 
cooks  in  America,  and  two-thirds  of  the  eaters, 
call  him  Bile. 


A  Supplication  i6i 

Cellar — is  the  lowest  character  in  the  house, 
and  takes  more  wine  and  cider  than  any  other, 
and  is  the  biggest  sauce-box  in  the  world.  Yet, 
with  all  the  propriety  of  the  parlor,  and  a 
sobriety,  as  if  not  a  drop  of  intoxicating  liquor 
was  in  him,  he  now  implores  you  to  remember 
that  he  is  a  Cellar^  and  not  a  Suller. 

Chimney.  —  Here  is  a  character  who  ten  thou- 
sand times  would  have  taken  fire  at  an  affront, 
were  it  not  for  the  danger  of  burning  up  the 
houses  and  goods  of  his  abusers,  —  faithful  ser- 
vant and  tender-hearted  creature  that  he  is  ! 
He  is  content  to  do  the  hottest,  hardest,  and 
dirtiest  work  in  the  world.  You  may  put  as 
much  green  wood  upon  his  back  as  you  please, 
and  make  him  breathe  nothing  but  smoke,  and 
swallow  nothing  but  soot,  and  stand  over  steam, 
till  pots  and  kettles  boil  no  more ;  all  these  are 
ease,  pleasantness,  and  peace,  to  abuse  like  this, 
—  Chimbly. 

Dictionary  —  rages  with  all  the  rough  epithets 
in  gentlemanly  or  vulgar  use ;  and  then  he  melts 
into  the  most  tender  and  heart-moving  words  of 
entreaty,  and,  in  fact,  tries  all  the  various 
powers  of  the  English  language.  Still  further, 
mighty  lexicographic  champions,  such  as  Dr. 
Webster,  Sheridan,  Walker,  Perry,  Jones,  Ful- 
ton and  Knight,  and  Jameson,  besides  numerous 

M 


1 62  A  Supplication 

other  inferior  defenders,  —  even  hosts  of  spell- 
ing-book makers,  have  all  exerted  their  utmost 
in  vain,  to  save  him  from  the  ignominy  of  being 
—  Dicksonary, 

End — is  uttering  the  most  dolorous  groans. 
There  are  certain  individuals  who  are  always 
killing  him  without  putting  him  to  an  end.  See 
what  a  torture  he  is  put  to  —  eend^  eend. 

Further^  —  that  friend  of  the  progress  and 
improvements  of  this  aheai-going  age,  stops  by 
the  way  to  ask  relief.  He  is  ready  to  further 
all  the  innumerable  plans  for  the  benefit  of  man, 
except  when  he  is  brought  back  in  this  way  — 
Furder. 

General.^  —  that  renowned  and  glorifying  char- 
acter, whose  fame  has  resounded  through  the 
world,  is  dishonored  and  made  gloryless  by  many 
a  brave  man  as  well  as  chicken-heart.  He  has 
now  intrenched  himself  in  this  position,  viz., 
that  he  will  no  longer  magnify  many  little 
militia-folks  into  mightiness,  unless  they  forbear 
to  call  him  Gineral.  It  is  not  only  a  degrada- 
tion, but  it  is  an  offence  to  his  associations. 
Gin  —  G/«-er-al ;  Wine-ev-z\^  and  much  more, 
ff^ater-a.\y  would  be  more  glory-giving  in  these 
un-treating,  or  rather,  re-treating  times  of 
temperance. 

Gave,  —  that  generous  benefactor,  that  mag- 


A  Supplication  163 

nanimous  philanthropist,  is  almost  provoked. 
He  declares  that  he  has  a  good  mind,  for  once, 
to  demand  back  his  donations  from  the  temper- 
trying  miscallers.  I  gave  a  thousand  dollars, 
this  very  day,  towards  the  completion  of  Bunker- 
Hill  Monument.  But  don't  say  of  me,  he  gin. 
I  never  gin  a  cent  in  my  life.  . 

Get^  —  that  enterprising  and  active  character, 
who  is  a  stanch  friend  of  all  the  temperate  and 
industrious,  stops  to  complain,  that  some  of 
those  he  serves  the  best  call  him  —  Git.  And 
he  is  very  reluctant  to  get  along  about  his  busi- 
ness, till  some  measures  are  taken  to  prevent 
the  abuse.  Get  is  now  waiting,  ye  workers  of 
all  professions ;  what  say  ?  Will  you  still,  with 
a  merciless  /,  make  him  Git  ? 

Gum  —  is  always  on  the  jaw^  that  he  is  so 
often  called  Goomh^  in  spite  of  his  teeth. 

Gown^  —  that  very  ladylike  personage,  is  sigh- 
ing away  at  the  deplorable  de-iovm\x.y  that  de- 
spoils her  beauty  in  the  extreme,  as  is  //f-veloped 
in  the  following  de-tail^  Gcnvn-d.  Oh  !  ye  lords 
of  language  !  if  ye  have  any  gallantry,  come  to 
the  deliverance  of  the  amiable  gown,  that  she 
may  shake  ofF  this  D-pendant. 

Handkerchief,  —  your  personal  attendant,  is 
also  distressed  in  the  extreme.     She  is  kept  by 


164  A  Supplication 

many  from  her  chief  end  in  the  following  cruel 
manner  —  Handker-CHEK. 

January^  —  that  old  Roman,  is  storming  away 
in  the  most  bitter  wrath ;  shaking  about  his 
snowy  locks,  and  tearing  away  at  his  icy  beard, 
like  a  madman.  "  Blast  'em,"  roars  his  Majesty 
of  midwinter,  "  don't  they  know  any  better 
than  to  call  me  "Jinuary ?  They  say,  'It  is  a 
terrible  cold  Jmuary,'  —  then,  '  It  is  the  J/'nuary 
thaw.'  Oh  !  ye  powers  of  ^e  air  !  help  me  to 
freeze  and  to  melt  them  by  turns,  every  day,  for 
a  month,  until  they  shall  feel  the  difference  be- 
tween the  vowel  a,  and  the  vowel  /".  My  name 
is  yanuary" 

Kettle^  —  that  faithful  kitchen-servant,  is  boil- 
ing with  rage.  He  is  willing  to  be  hung  in 
trammels,  and  be  obliged  to  get  his  living  by 
hook  and  by  crook,  and  be  hauled  over  the  coals 
every  day,  and  take  even  pot-luck  for  his  fare, 

—  and,  indeed,  to  be  called  black  by  the  pot ; 

—  all  this  he  does  not  care  a  snap  for ;  but  to 
be  called  Kittle  —  Kittle  !  "  Were  it  not  for 
the  stiffness  of  my  limbs,  I  would  soon  take 
\eg-bail"  says  the  fiery  hot  Kettle. 

Little  —  allows  that  he  is  a  very  inferior 
character,  but  avers  that  he  is  not  least  in 
the  great  nation  of  words.  He  cannot  be  morey 
and  he  will  not  be  less.     Prompted  by  a  con- 


A  Supplication  165 

siderate  self-respect,  he  informs  us  that  he  is 
degraded  to  an  unwarrantable  diminutiveness  by 
being  called  —  Leetle.  "  A  leetle  too  much,"  says 
one.  "  A  leetle  too  far,"  says  another.  "  A 
mighty  leetle  thing,"  cried  a  third.  Please  to 
call  respectable  adjectives  by  their  right  names, 
is  the  polite  request  of  your  humble  servant. 
Little. 

Lie^  —  that  verb  of  so  quiet  a  disposition  by 
nature,  is  roused  to  complain  that  his  repose  is 
exceedingly  disturbed  in  the  following  manner. 
Almost  the  whole  American  nation,  learned  as 
well  as  unlearned,  have  the  inveterate  habit  of 
saying  —  Lay^  when  they  mean,  and  might  say 
—  Lie.  ^*- Lay  down,  and  lay  abed,  and  let  it 
lay"  is  truly  a  national  sin  against  the  laws  of 
grammar. 

Airs.,  —  that  respectable  abbreviation,  is  ex- 
ceedingly grieved  at  the  indignity  she  suffers. 
The  good  ladies,  whom  she  represents,  are  let 
down  from  the  matronly  dignity,  to  which  she 
would  hold  them,  even  to  the  un-married  deg- 
radation of  Miss;  —  and  this  in  the  United 
States,  where  matrimony  is  so  universally 
honored  and  sought  after.  She  desires  it  to  be 
universally  published,  that  Aliss  belongs  only  to 
ladies  who  have  never  been  blessed  with  hus- 
bands. 


1 66  A  Supplication 

0/7,  —  you  all  know,  has  a  disposition, 
smooth  to  a  proverb ;  —  but  he  is,  to  say  the 
least,  in  great  danger  of  losing  his  fine,  easy 
temper,  by  being  treated  in  the  altogether  im- 
proper manner  that  you  here  behold  —  lie  ! 

Potatoes^  —  (those  most  indispensable  servants 
to  all  dinner-eating  Americans,  and  the  benevo- 
lent furnishers  of  ''^ daily  bread"  and,  indeed, 
the  whole  living  to  Pat-land's  poor,)  —  Potatoes^ 
are  weeping  with  all  their  eyes^  at  the  agony  to 
which  they  are  put  by  thousands.  They  are 
most  unfeelingly  mangled,  top  and  toe,  in  this 
manner,  —  Taters.  Notwithstanding  their  ex- 
tremities^ in  the  most  wf^/y-mouthed  manner 
they  exclaim,  —  "  Po !  Po !  gentlemen  and  ladies ! 
pray  spare  us  a  head,  and  you  may  bruise  our 
toes  in  welcome.  Still,  you  must  confess  that 
Potaters  is  not  so  sound  and  whole-some  as 
Potatoes." 

Point  —  allows  that  in  some  respects  he  is  of 
very  minute  importance ;  but  asserts  that  in 
others  he  is  of  the  greatest  consequence,  as  in 
an  argument,  for  instance.  Point  is  determined 
to  prick  forward  in  the  cause,  till  he  shall  be  no 
longer  blunted  and  turned  away  from  his  aim, 
and  robbed  of  his  very  nature,  in  the  measure 
you  here  perceive  —  Pint. 

Philadelphia  —  takes  off  his  broad-brim,  and. 


A  Supplication  167 

in  the  softest  tones  of  brotherly  love,  implores 
the  people  of  the  United  States  to  cease  calling 
him  by  that  harsh,  horrid,  and  un-brotherly 
name,  —  Fellydelphy.  It  deprives  him  of  his 
significance,  and  ancient  and  honorable  lineage, 
as  every  Greek  scholar  well  knows. 

Poetry.  —  What  a  halo  of  glory  around  this 
daughter  of  Genius,  and  descendant  of  Heaven  ! 
Behold  how  she  is  rent  asunder  by  many  a  piti- 
ful proser,  and  made  to  come  short  of  due  honor. 
Potry  —  Apollo  and  the  Muses  know  nothing 
about  Potry  ! 

^ench,  —  that  renowned  extinguisher,  whom 
all  the  world  can't  hold  a  candle  to,  is  himself 
very  much  put  out^  now  and  then,  from  this  cause, 
—  some  people  permit  that  crooked  and  hissing 
serpent  tS",  to  get  before  him,  and  coil  round 
him,  while  he  is  in  the  hurry  of  duty,  as  you 
here  see  —  Squench ;  and  sometimes  they  give 
him  a  horrid  black  /',  thus  —  Squinch. 

Rather  —  is  universally  known  to  be  very 
nice  in  his  preferences,  and  to  be  almost  con- 
tinually occupied  in  expressing  them.  Be  it  as 
universally  known,  then,  that  he  is  disgusted 
beyond  all  bearing  at  being  called  —  Ruther. 

Sauce  —  has  a  good  many  elements  in  him, 
and,  above  all,  a  proper  share  of  self-respect. 
He  thinks  he  has  too  much  spice  and  spirit  to 


1 68  A  Supplication 

be  considered  such  a  flat  as  this  indicates  — 
Sass. 

Scarce  —  is  not  a  very  frequent  complainant 
of  anything,  —  but  he  now  complains  of  certain 
Nippies,  both  male  and  female,  and  hosts  of 
honest  imitators,  call  him  Scurce,  thinking  it  the 
very  tip  of  gentility. 

Such  —  does  not  complain  of  mistaken  polite- 
ness, but  of  low  and  vulgar  treatment  like  this 
—  Sich.  • 

Since  —  embraces  all  antiquity,  goes  back  be- 
yond Adam,  yea,  as  far  back  into  the  unbegin- 
ningness  as  you  could  think  in  a  million  of 
years,  and  unimaginably  further.  And,  oh ! 
his  hoary  head  is  bowed  down  with  sorrow 
at  being  called  by  two-thirds  of  the  American 
people,  Sence. 

Spectacles,  —  those  twin  literati,  who  are  ever 
poring  over  the  pages  of  learning,  raise  eyes  of 
supplication.  They  say  that  they  cannot  look 
with  due  respect  upon  certain  elderly  people, 
who  pronounce  them  more  unlettered  than  they 
really  are,  as  you  may  perceive  without  looking 
with  their  interested  eyes  —  Spetacles.  Venerable 
friends,  pray  c  us,  c  us. 

Sit  —  has  been  provoked  to  stand  up  in  his 
own  behalf,  although  he  is  of  sedentary  habits, 
and  is  sometimes  inclined  to  be  idle.     He  de- 


A  Supplication  169 

clares  he  has  too  much  pride  and  spirit  to  let 
that  more  active  personage  —  Set  —  do  all  his 
work  for  him.  "  Set  still,"  says  the  pedagogue 
to  his  pupils  —  and  parents  to  their  children. 
"  Set  down,  sir,"  —  say  a  thousand  gentlemen, 
and  some  famously  learned  ones,  to  their  vis- 
itors. "  The  coat  sets  well,"  affirms  the  tailor. 
Now  all  this  does  not  sit  well  on  your  com- 
plainant, and  he  sets  up  his  Ebenezer,  that  he 
should  like  a  little  more  to  do,  —  especially  in 
the  employ  of  college-learned  men,  and  also  of 
the  teachers  of  American  youth. 

Sat — makes  grievous  complaint  that  he  is 
called  Sot.  He  begs  all  the  world  to  know  that 
he  hath  not  redness  of  eyes,  nor  rumminess  nor 
brandiness  of  breath,  nor  flamingness  of  nose, 
that  he  should  be  degraded  by  the  drunkard's 
lowest  and  last  name  —  Sot. 

Shut.  —  This  is  a  person  of  some  importance. 
He  is,  indeed,  the  most  decisive  and  unyielding 
exclusive  in  the  world.  He  keeps  the  outs,  out, 
and  the  ins,  in,  both  in  fashionable  and  political 
life.  Now  this  stiff  old  aristocrat  is  made  to 
appear  exceedingly  flat,  silly,  and  undignified,  by 
being  called,  by  sundry  persons,  —  Shet.  "  Shet 
the  door,"  says  old  Grandsire  Grumble,  of  a 
cold,  windy  day.  "  Shet  your  books,"  says  the 
schoolmaster,    when    he  is    about  to  hear  the 


lyo  A  Supplication 

urchins  spell.  "  Shet  up,  you  saucy  blockhead," 
cries  he,  to  young  Insolence.  This  is  too  bad  ! 
It  is  abominable  !  a  schoolmaster,  the  appointed 
keeper  of  orthographical  and  orthoepical  honor, 
—  letting  fall  the  well-bred  and  lofty-minded  — 
Shut  —  from  his  guardian  lips,  in  the  shape 
of  Shet.  Oh  !  the  plebeian  !  Faithless  and  un- 
fit pedagogue ! !  He  ought  to  be  banished  to 
Shet-land,  where  by  day  he  should  battle  with 
Boreas ;  and  where  by  night  his  bed  should  be 
the  summit  of  a  snow-drift,  —  his  sheets  nothing 
but  Arctic  mists,  —  and  his  pillow  the  fragment 
of  an  iceberg  !  !  Away  with  the  traitor  to  Shet- 
land  !  O,  most  merciful  American  masters  and 
mistresses  !  Shut  has  no  relief  or  safety  from 
the  miserableness  of  Shet,  but  in  U. 

Told — feels  the  dignity  of  his  vocation,  and 
asks  not  to  be  kept  out  of  use  by  such  bad 
grammar  as  this  —  Telled. 

Tes^  —  that  good-natured  personage,  affirms 
that  were  he  not  of  so  complying  a  disposition, 
he  would  henceforth  be  no  to  everybody  who 
should  call  him —  Tis. 

Finally^  —  hearken  !  There  is  a  voice  from  the 
past.  It  is  the  complaint  of  departing  Yesterday. 
He  cries  aloud  —  Give  ear,  O,  To-day,  and 
hear,  hear,  O,  To-morrow  !  Never,  never  more, 
call  me  Tisterday  ! 


A  Supplication  171 

We  have  thus  presented  you,  Sovereign  Own- 
ers, with  the  complaints  and  groans  of  a  con- 
siderable number  of  our  race.  There  are, 
doubtless,  many  others,  who  are  also  in  a  state 
of  suffering,  but  who  have  uncommon  fortitude, 
or  too  much  modesty,  to  come  forward  pub- 
licly, and  make  known  their  trials  to  our  whole 
assembled  community.  Should  the  abuse  of  any 
such  happen  to  be  known  to  you  at  any  time,  we 
pray  that  the  same  consideration  may  be  given 
to  them  as  to  the  rest. 

Now,  Sovereign  Masters  and  Mistresses,  and 
Rightful  Owners,  shall  these  visions  of  hope  be 
realized  ?  Shall  the  condition  of  our  suffering 
brethren  be  ameliorated  ?  Shall  the  era  of  good 
grammar,  correct  spelling,  and  proper  pronunci- 
ation, be  hastened  forward  by  some  benevolent 
exertions  ?  Shall  the  present  abuses  be  trans- 
mitted to  the  future  or  not  ?  Shall  the  Golden 
Age  of  Speech  speedily  come,  and  last  evermore  ? 

That  such  improvement  in  their  condition 
may  be  vouchsafed,  is  the  humble  prayer  of 
your  supplicants;  —  all  whose  names,  being  too 
numerous  to  be  here  subscribed,  may  be  found 
recorded  in  Webster's  great  Dictionary. 


PAGES   FROM   OLD   SPELLERS 


FRONTISPIECE  OF  "THE  ONLY  SURE  GUIDE." 
(See  page  ii.) 


THE  ALPHABET. 

Ronan., 

ItiKi..                  Name*., 

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1 

"^SVLtABLES 

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EASY    RHADINQ, 


n 


DUTIES  OF  CHILDREN. 
Lo\n  your . brotbera  and  sisters.  Do  not  lease  nor  vex 
^Iiem,  nor  calf  ihem  names ;  and  never  let  your  little  hands 
be  raised  to  strike  them.  If  they  have  any  thing  which 
j  yon  would  like  to  have,  do  not  be  angry  with  them,  nor 
try  to  got  it  from  them.  If  you  have  any  thing  they  like, 
sliare  it  witii  them. 

your  parents  grieve  when  they  see  you  quarrel ;  jlhey 
r.->vc  you  all,  and  wish  you-to  love  one  another,  and  to  live 
in  peace  and  harmony. 

l)y  not  meddle  with  what  does  not  belong  to  you;  nor 
,ever  take  oilier  people's  things  without  leave. 

?fever  toll  an  unirutli.    When  you  arc  relating  any  thing 

I  you  have  Been,  or  heard,  endeavour  to fett  it  exactly  as  it 

was.     Do  not  alter  or  invent  any  part,  or  make  it,  as  you 

may  think,  a  prettier  story.     If  you  have  forgotten  any 

f  part, '.say  thal'you  have  forgotten  it. 

Persons  who  love  the  truth,  never  tell  a  lie  even  in  jest. 


WORDS    OK   THREE    SYLLABLES. 


H'lf-ys 

riWen-ato 

H'o-rist 

u'pn-iot 

u'ljTie-ous 

a're-a 

h'i'noiis-jicss 

la'z?-ncss 

male'tun-tenl 

ma'n!-ac 

nal'a-del. 

pa'gan-i«m 


a'rfrel 

s/the-ilm 

ba'ygn>et 

bra'v^r-^ 

ca've-at 

chaniCJi-file 

dat'r/-ma/d 

dfirt'ler-ous 

pa'pa-t:^ 
pa'trf-ari/t 
pa'tr!-5t 
pa'trSn-ess 

pla'ca-ble 

pla'jiia-rTsm 

ra'd!-ance 


dra'per-^ 

Ugh'\A-cth 

fa'vour-ite 

fa/^n'ed-l| 

fia'gran-c^ 

g;a''e-t}* 

grate'fiil-lj 

gu^'Ia-cum 

ia'd!-i"i8 

ra'p!-.er 

ra'ta-ble 

r.Vt''i-o 

sale'a-ble 

sa'pi-cnc'e 

sa't'-f-ntc 

sa'vSr-^ 


WORDS  OF  FIVE 

AND  SIX  SYLLABLES.' 

«rys-tal-l!-2<Vti2n 

e-tnan-cf-pa'tJoO 

de-Riin-ri-a'iiSn 

en-M-V'l-hs'ti^ 

de-sid-e-ra'tuna 

ep-!-Ju-re'an 

di-a&/t-6-ret'i« 

e=I-ai-|e-ra'tlSn 

e^Jfle-l'l-as'ti^ 

ex-p6st-^ii-la'ti5a 

ed-f-f!-ta'a'8n 

|e-om-e-tri-ci'an 

e-ja^u-lcVtiun 

ies-tl^u-la't!Sn 

e-lu-^f-da'tJSn 

hi-e-ro-gly^'ilf 

i-ma|-in-a1iSn 

me-temp-s^-lJ/jo'sTs 

in-au-gu-ra'[iSn 

iie-g6-t''!-a'ti»n 

in-dTs-po-si-tl'on 

pa-pil-io-na'ceous 

in-fat>u-a'ngn 

pAar-m  a- Jlo-poe'i  a 

in-t€r-r6-ga'tiSD 

pre-cip-!-ta'tion 

m-ves-t!-ga't^5n 

pro-nun-c''!-5'tion 

jus-t!-ff-^a'tS8n 

pros-o-p6-poe'Ia 

ma«/i-e-ma-a-ci'an 

?il5ai-!-f!-^a'iJgn 

re?-''6m-men-da'l!5n 

sub-til-i-za't\gn 

re-|rn-er-ri'iJ5n 

Bu-per-jn-tend'ence 

re-it-^'cr-H'iiga 

sup-p6i-f-ti-ti'ous 

re-sfis-c'J-ta'iiSn 

ter-|»-ver-sa'ii5n. 

re-vcr-bpr-a'i^So. 

trans-fig-u-ra'tiSn 

san?-ti-ff-J!;Viigii 

ver-sf-fi-.'a'tJSn 

so-lk-i-ta'iion 

viv-f-fr-Ja'i\gn 

ster-e-6-gra{A'iJf 

v6-^if  er-a'ii5n 

^6n-^ll'f-a-t?.r-'| 

Jn-ter-r6g"a-tSr-;^ 

e-ja^'u-la-l3r-:^ 

ir-re-J?,v'?r-a-blc 

pT6.pi-t''1-ri-tSr  ^ 

ir-re-me'd!-a-blc 

re-vcr'bcr-a-lSr-^ 

su-pcr-mViner-ar-^ 

Wiron-o-loi't-Jal-l^ 

Mc-o-rctl-Jal-l^ 

ilr-tuin-loJ'u-to-r^ 

ad-mi-ra-bil"i-tj 

elc-c-mol'fnar-:^ 

an-te-me-ri'df-an 

in-de-fiifj-ga-blc 

an-ti-mo-niir-J/tf-ial 

EASY_LE360NS. 


The  Lord  is  God,  and  the  only  God.  It  is  he  that  hath 
made  us,  and  does  us  good. 

The  life  of  the  body  and  the  life  of  the  soul-  are  from 
God.  He  made  the  eye,  and  can  see  us.  He  made  the 
ear,  and  can  hear  us.  The  eye  of  God  is  upon  the  evil, 
and  the  good. 

If  you  love  God  bd  will  save  yoii.  Make  the  word  of 
God  the  rale  of  all  you  do ;  mind  well  what  He  says  in  hia 
word,  for  that  will  show  you  the  way  to  life.  Tliis  life  is 
for  a  short  time  ;  but  the  life  to  come  has  no  end. 

Look  at  them  that  do  well,^  and  do  so  too.  Keep  from 
them  that  do  evil  and  tell  lies.  Pear  the  Lord  all  the  day 
long. 

.  Let  us  love  the  Lord  our  God  with  all  our  soul ;  for  lie 
is  kind  to  us.  If  the  Lord  keep  us,  we  need  not  fear  any 
evil. 

■.  We  must  hate  no  one ;  but  love  and  do  good  to  all ;  and 
love  them  that  do  not  love  us.  Be  just  and  kind  to  all 
men.  It  is  t)ie  bad  boy,  that  will  hurt,  when  he  can,  his 
plav-niate ;  yoa  must  not  do  it,  if  you  can  helpiit ;  no,  you 
must  not  so  much  as  vex  him. 

As  soon  as  the  sun  is  up,  you  must  be  up,  attd  not  lie  in 
bed. 

The  ann  was  made  for  man.  and  it  will  be  of  no  use  to 
him,  if  he  is  not  up. 

You  are  to  lie  down,  and  take  rest  in  the  night ;  bat  rise 
and  work  in  the  day. 


EASY    LESfiONO. 


QUESTIONS  FOR  LITTLE  30YS. 

How  many  fingers  have  you  got,  little  boy  ? 

Here  are  four  fingers  on  this  hand.  And  what  is  this  T 
Thumb.  Four  fingers  and  thumb,  that  makes  five.  And 
how  many  oo  the  other  hand  ? 

There  are  five  too. 

What  is  this  ? 

This  is  the  right  hand. 

And  thb?  This  is  the  left  hand. 

And  how  many  toes  hare  you  got?  Let  us  count. 

Five  upon  this  foot,:  and  five  upon  that  foot. 

Five  and  five  make  ten  :  ten  fin;;era  and  ten  toes. 

How  many  legs  hjfVe  you^? 

Here  is  one,  and  here  is  another.     Charles  has  two  legs.* 

How  many  legs  has  a  horso  ? 

A  horse  has  four  legs. 

And  how  many  Has  a  d6g  7 

Four ;  and  a  cow  has  four ;  an4  a  sheep  has  four  ;  and 
puss  has  four  legs. 

And  how  many  legs  have  the  chickens  1 

Go  and  look. 

The  chickens  have  only  two  legs. 

And  the  hnnets,  and  the  robins,  and  all  the  birds  have 
only  two  legs.  , 

But  I  will  tell  you  what  birds  have  got;  they  have  got 
wings  to  /17  with,  and  they  fly  very,  high  in  the  air. 


EASY    LESSONS. 
THE  GOOD  CHILD. 


^iiuiiiuTu:pai:aimiiuiHUUin]ninBWBHi^MyHiiuiKnimiiiiniw 

Oh,  thai  it  were  my  cliief  delight 

To  do  the  things  I  ought ! 
Then  let  mc  try  wi'Ji  all  my  might 

To  mind  what  I  am  taught. 

Wherever  I  an>  told  to  go, 

I  'Jl  cheerfully  ol)ey  ; 
Nor  will  1  mind  it  mucli,  although 

I  leave  a  pretty  pluy. 

Wheu  I  am  bid.  I'll  freeljr  bripg 

Whatever  I  have  got ; 
Nor  will  I  touch  a  pretty  thing 

if  mother  Iclb  mo  not., 

"Wlien  she  permits  mO,  I  may  tell 

About  my  pretty  toys ; 
But  if  she's  busy,  or  unwell, 

.1  roust  not  make  a  noise. 

And  when  I  learn  my  hymns  to  nj, 

Aud  work  and  read  and  spell, 
I  will  not  think  about  my  play, 

But  try  and  do  it  well. 

For  GOD  looks  down  from  heaven  on  high. 

Our  actions  to  behold, 
And  he  is  pleased,  when  children  try 

To  do  as  they  are  told. 


EASY  tESSONS. 


THE  GOOD  SCHOLAR 

Joseph  West  had  been  tpid, 

That  if,  when  he  grew  old, 
He  had  not  learned  riglitly  to  speU, 

Though  his  writing  were  good, 

Twould  not  be  understood : 
And  Joe  s^id,  "  I  will  learn  my  task  welL" 

And  he  made  it  a  rule 

To  be  silent  at  school ; 
And  what  do  you  lliink  came  to  pass  ? 

Why,  he  learned  it  so  fast. 

That,  from  being  tlic  Jast, 
He  soon  was  the  first  in  the  class. 


SELECT  SENTENCES. 

Never  ask  other  persons  to  do  any  thing  for  "you,  which 
you  can  as  properly  do  for  youf-self. 

As  soon  as  you  have  learned  to  vnxk  well,  try  to  wotft 
quick.  ' 

If  we  do  not  take  pains,  we  must  not  expect  toexcel  in 
any  thing. 

Attentive  and  industrious  people  can  always  find  time  to 
do  what  is  proper  for  dhem  tu  da. 


The  Analytical  Spelling  Book. 


Sec.  15. 

Sweet,    Sweet-er,    Sxvcet-est. 

A  pear  is  sweet,  a  plumb  is  sweeter,  honey 
is  sweetest. 

Ann  is  a  sweet  child  — 
She  does  not  cry  or  snarl. 
She  minds  her  pa  and  ma, 
and  loves  the  little  babe.  So 
she  is  a  swect  child. 

The  robin  sings  sweet- 
ly. You  have  seen  the 
rob-in  sit-ting  on  a  limb, 
and  ^  heard    her    sweet 

song. 

The .  sap  of  the  .  ma-ple  has 

t     . ,  'I         ..." 

SWeet-liess.  It  can  be  boil- 
ed till  only  the  sweetness  is  left, 
and  then  it  is  simar. 


Sweet,  sweeter,  sweet-est,  sweet- 
ly,'swccl-ness. 

Bold,   bolder,   liold-e^t,  bold-ly., 
boldness. 

cold        wild         hiijh         ralm  harsh 

blind       ll^ht         brijihi       d:irk'  sliarp 

mild        tight         kind          hard  smart 


The  Analytical  Spelling  Bonik. 


Stealing.  \ 


Sec.  18. 

Now  you  know  so  many  words,  you  can 
read  a  story  about  the  boy  who  stole  a  pin. 
But  first  can  you  tell  me  what  is  a  pin  ?  Of 
what  is  it  made?  What  kind  of  wire? — 
What  is  done  to  the  ends?  For  what  is  it 
used  ?     Now  hear  the  story  about 

The  hoy  who  stole  a  pin, 
A  little  while  ago  a  good  man  went  to  the 
cold,  dark  jail,  to  talk  with  the  wicked  per- 
sons who  were  shut  up  there  for  crimes. — 
He  found  one  man,  who  was  soon  to  be 
hung.  He  was  taken  up  .for  rob-bing,  tried 
by  tlie  court,  and  con-dem-ned  to  be  hung. 
Ihe  good  man  asked  him  how  lie  came  to 
«?uch  an  end.  '  Said  the  rob-ber,  "  The  fii-st 
thing  that  led  me  to,  it  was,  when  I  was  n 
little  boy  and  went  to  school,  /  stole  q  yin. 
[  saw  it  on  the  coat-cufF  of  the  boy  who 
sat  next  to  me,  and  I  want-ed  it.  ■  But  I  was 
afraid  to  take  it  because  it .  was  none  of 
mine.  I  looked  at  it  again,  and  wished  it 
were  mine.  And  when  no  one  saw  me,  I 
put  out  my  hand,  and  drew  it  from  the  cufF, 
and  hid  it  behind  me.  But  O !  how  I  felt  I 
It  seemed  to  me  all  the  boys  in  school  look- 
ed right  at  me,  and  said,  *  Yau  stole  a  pin ! ' 
What   would   I  not   have   given,  if  it  were 


crime — some-thing  wron^.     What  is  a  cuff? 


2%e  Anah/tical  Spelling  Book. 


stole  a  pin  to  te  hung. 


back  in  the  cuff.  But  I  was  asliained  to 
puc  it  back,  and  let  the  boy  know  that  1  had 
stol-en  it;  so   I   kept  it.     1  was   not  found 

jout,  and  soon  for-got  how  bad  I  felt.  I  then  I 
saw  a  -knife,  and  wanted  that.  1  felt  njore 
bold  to  take  it,  as  1  was  not  found  out  with 

jlhepIn;'so  1  look  the  knife.     I  did  not  fee! 

i  quite  so  bad.  JVcxt,  I  stole  ;^  roll  of  cloth, 
and  so  went  on  from  bad  to  worse,  until  I; 
sot  njo  a   [>is-tol  to  get  things  by  force.     I 

j  went  tp  a  thick  clump  of  busjies  and  hid  till 

jit  was  dark.     Then  as  a  man  passed  by,  1 
jumped  from  my  hiding  place,  held  up  myj 
pistol,  and  told  him  to  give  uie  his  nion-ey  tr 
he  shot.     He  gave  me  his  money;  but  I  was 

jsoon  found  out  and  taken  to  jail.  From 
there  I  was  la-ken  to  tri-al,  and  now  am 
condemned   to  hang  by   a   rope   round  alie 

!neck  till  I  am  dead.  And  it  is  all  to  be 
traced,  to  this — 

'  I  stole  a  pin ! ' 

Here  the  gooa  man  left  him  to  die. 

IS'ow  tell  me,  my  child,  what  is  it  to  steal 
What  is  it  to  rob  ? 

If  you  have  done  wrong y  do  so  no  more.— 
Your  sin  will  find  you  out. 


Knife — what?       How     many     parts — iiandle, 
spring,  blade.    Of  what  made  and  for  what  used  ^ 


fF= 


EASY    READING. 
LITTLE  ANN. 


Mothcr/how  can  the  flowers  grow  ? 

Said  little  Ann  one  day  ; 
The  garden  is  all  over  snow ; 

When  will  it  go  atvay  7 

^. 
The  sun,  my  love,  will  molt  the  anew, 

And  warm  the  frozen  ground  ; 
But  many  a  wintry  wind  will  Ulow 

Before  the  flowers  are  found 

In  a  few  months,  my  Ann  will  view 
The  garden  "now  so  white, 

With  yellow  cowslip,  violet  blue, 
And  dafibdil  so  bright. 


EAST  RBAoma.' 

The  birds  will  then,  Irmn  every  (tee, 
Pour  forlli  a  song  of  praise  ; 

Their  little  hearts  will  gratefal  b^v 
And  sweet  will  sound  their  lays. 

For  God,  who  dwells  above  the  sky, 
Made  them,  as  well  as  you ; 

Ee  gave  them  litth  wings  to  fly. 
And  made  their  music  too. 

Hte  gave  my  little  girl  her  voice, 
To  join  in  prayer  and  praise  ; 

Then  may  she  ever  more  rejoice 
To  learn  her  Maker's  ways ! 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 


On  a  fine  niorning  in  the  fall  of  1737,  Mr.  Washing- 
ton, having  little  George  by  the  hand„  c^e  to  the  door 
and  asked  my  cousin  and  myself  to  walk  with  him  to  the 
orchard,  promising  to  show  us  a  fine  sight.  On  arriving  at 
the  orchard,  we  were  presented  with  a  fine  sight  indeed. 
Tlie  whole  eaxth  aa  fsor  as  We  could  8«e,  was  strewed  wi(}i 
U  fruit :  and  yet  the  trees  wore  bending  under  the  weight 
Fr-         I   >      I  I    I       .1  I r-TT 


EASY    READING. 

of  apples,  which  hm^  in  clusters,  like  grapes,  ud  vainly 
strove  to  hide  their  red  cheeks  behind  the  green  leaves. 

"Now,  George,,"  said  his  father,  "look  here,  my  son ! 
don't  you  remember,  when  ihia  good  cousinof  yours  broughV- 
you  that  fine  large  apple,  last  spring,  how  bardly  I  could 
prevail  on  yon  to  divide  with  your  brothers  and  sisters ; 
though  1  promised  you  thai  if  you  would  but  do  it,  God 
Almighty  would  give  you  plenty  of  apples  this  fall  ?" 

I'oor  George  c:)uld  not  say  a  Word ;  but,  hanging  down 
his  head,  looked  quite  confused,  while  with  his  littie  naked 
toes  he  scratched  in  the  soft  ground. — "^N'ow  look  up,  my 
son,"  continued  his  father, "  and  ace  how  richly  that  blessed 
God  has  made  good  my  promise  f)  yoti.  Wherever  you 
turn  your  eyes,  you  see  the  trees  loaded  with  fine  fruit,  many 
of  them  indeed  breaking  down^  while  the  ground  is  covered 
with  mellow  apples,  more  than  you  could  ever  eat,  my  son, 
in  all  your  life  time.'.' 

George  looked  in  silenOe  oh  the  widfi  wildfernes^s  of  fruit ; 
he  marked  the  busy  humminjj  bees,  and  heard  the  gay 
notes  of  birds ;  then  lifting  his  eyes,  filled  with  signing  moist- 
ure, he  said,  softly,  to  hia  father,  "  Well,  Pa,  only  forgive 
me  this  time,  and  see  if  I  ever  he  so  stingy  any  more.'-' 

When  George  Was  about  six  years  old,  he  was  made  the 
wealthy  master  of  a  hatchet!  of  which,  like  most  boys,  lie 
was  immoderately  fond,  and  wss  constantly  going  about, 
chopping  every  thing  that  came  in  his  way.     .  -  "  • 

One  day  in  the  garden,  whern  he  hudoftet)  amused  him^ 
self  hacking  hjs  mother's  pea-bushed,  he  unluckily  tried  the 
edge  of  his  hsTclrei  on  the  body  of  a  beautiful  young  Eng- 
lish cherry  tree,  which  he  barked  so  terribly,  that  I  don't 
believe  the  tree  efver  got  the  better  of  it.  ) 

The  nextf  lUorning,  the  old  gentJcnian,  finding  out  what 
Tiad  befallen  his  favourite  tree,  came  into  the  hou-se,  and  asked 
for  liie  author  of  the  mischief,,  declaring  at  the  same  tiraie, 
that  he  Would  not  have  taken  fire  guineas  for  the  tree.       a. 

Nobody  could  tell  him  any  thing  about  it.  Presently 
George  and  his  little  hatchet  made  Iheir  appearance. 
"  George,"  said  his  father,  "do  you  know  whio  killed  that 
bcattfii^l  little  cherry  tree  yonder  in  the  garden  1" 

This  was  a  tough  question  ;  and  George  staggered  uhdcr 
it  for  a  moment;  but  quickly  recovered  himself ;  and  look- 
ing at  his  father,  with  the  sweet  face  of  youth,  brightened 
•with  the  charm  of  honesty,  hft  bravely  cried  out,  "  I  csri't 


LANGUACB. 

tell  a  lie,  Pfti  jtqu  know.  I  caa'X  tell  a  lie.    I  did  it  wiUi  hiy 
little  hatchet." 

"  Run  to  my  arms,  my  dearest  boy,"  said  his  ftither ; 
."you  have  paid  me  for  my. tree  a  thous-ind  times;  and  I 
hope  my  son  will  always  be  hero  enough  to  tell  the  truth, 
let  come  what  will  come." 

LANGUAGE. 

Langnagt  is  human  spcofch,  or  3  set  of  articulate  soimd.s, 
used  by  any  nation  or  people  to  coilvey  their  ideas  to  each 
other. 

Grammar  is  the  arl  of  ^pcakin^and  writing  any  language 
with  propriety. 

Orthography  is  that  part  of  gramimff,  which  teaches  the 
nature  and  power  of  letters,  and  the  just  method  of  spelling 
words. 

A  teller  is  the  first  principle,  or  least  part  of  «  word. 

The  leltcra^of  a  lauguapfp  arc  called  the  <}//;/<aAef,- which 
in  the  English  hingiiage  ar«  tinenhf-sii  iri  nlitnber.  "" 

Letters  arc  divided  into  yowolii  and  con.sonants. 

^  vnttel  is  a  letter,  which  can  bo  piTfectly  sounded  by 
itself;  or  without  moving  the  parts  of  ilie  ninotli. 

A  ciin:uiiiuiit  is  a  letter,  wliicl^  caiitiot  bo  |)crfectly  sound- 
ed by  itself;  but,  joined  with  a  vowel,  forms  an  articuliitc  or 
signilicant  sound. 

The  vowels  arc  a,  f.,i,  o,  11,  and  snmotimcs,  w  and  1/. 

IF  and  y  arc  Consonants,  when  they  JM-gin  a  word  or  sylla- 
ble ;  but  in  every  other  situation  tli^y  are  called  vowoIh. 

A  diphlhinur  is  tlie  union  of  two  vowels  in  one  syllabic  ; 
as  en  in'ljciit,  on  in  aotnul.. 

A  tnjihthimg  is  tile  union  of  three  voWtls  in  one  .syllable ; 
as;  ie'n  in  adiei'i  licit. 

A  si/Udble  is  a  sound,  either  simple  rtr  com]>ouii(ied,  pro- 
nounced by  a  single  impidso  or  elTort  6f  tlie  voice,  and  con- 
stituting a  word  or  part  of  a  word  ;  jxumin,  man'fiil. 

Worth  arc  articulate,  or  significant  jsoirndti.  which  are 
used  to  express  our  idead. 

A  word  of  ««<•  syllable  is  called        a  nion'or.i;IInhle, 

A  word  of  tiro  syllable.i,  a  iHsstfllnile^ 

A  wor<l  of  three  syllables,  a  irix'i/lltiLle, 

'  A  word  of  four  or  more  syllables,    a  pcl'ysrjUablc.  , 


t 


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